Mivel a blog.hu olyan technikai akadályokat gördített elém ami miatt egy rémálom volt képeket és videókat beollózni, ezért letettem róla, hogy az ázsiában töltött 2.5 hetem alatt további szignifikáns mennyiségű órát azzal töltsek el a hotelszobáimban, hogy anyázva copy-pastelem össze a cikkemet újra és újra, és rimánkodok, hogy működjön.

Cserébe a hazajövetelem óta benáthásodtam, így most itthonülve kiválóan ráérek arra, hogy máshogy szerkesszem a képeket, amivel remélhetőleg elébemegyek annak, hogy a szövegem újra és újra eltűnjön.

Na szóval valahol ott hagytam abba, hogy Bangkokban buliztam egyet - hát, azt az első buliéjszakát azóta se sikerült felülmúlnom, azt kell hogy mondjam, pedig azután még voltam kétszer Bangkokban, és egyszer Szingapúrban is táncikálni. A jetlag-mentesítendő projekt, miszerint az első éjszakát jól megtoltam, ha már +7órát ébren kell maradni úgyis, hogy nem aludtam előtte, remekül sikerült, annak ellenére is, hogy barátnőkkel messengeren konzultálva ők a pihenésre szavaztak. De nagyon éreztem a bugit, és iszonyú csillogó csillagszeműen excited voltam � valószínűleg ezért is sikerült olyan remekre az este, hatalmas kudos az idősebb párocskának akiket sikerült betalálnom, az ő kapcsolódásuk nélkül nem tudtam volna annyi szabadtánc energiát felszabadítani én sem. Zseniális amikor valakikkel tényleg csak a tánc és mozgás örömével lehet ugrálni, és örülni egymás hülye mozdulatainak és a rettenetes zenének, elképesztő hogy 10 000 km utazás után vadidegen helyen ezzel a dologgal ugyanúgy lehet kapcsolódni, mint 10 000 km-rel máshol, teljesen más emberekkel. Az alapvető univerzális örömforrás a zene és a tánc, és elképesztően otthon éreztem magam egész este.

Gyönyörű kontraszt volt másnap, ami utána ismétlődött is, a teljesen kozmopolita külföldi turistákkal együtthömpölygő univerzális őrjöngő élmények után a sokkal inkább lokális, helyiekhez és helyhez kötött elcsendesülés élmény is, amit félreeső városzugok és magasztos épületek megtekintésekor éreztem. Persze ez sem igazából individuális élmény, hiszen ezekben is a helyi közösség, kultúra, sőt a vallásukon keresztül valami sokkal univerzálisabbhoz tartozást élhettem meg, de mégis egy sokkal befeléfigyelőbb, egyedüli élményként éltem ezeket meg. Szóval tulajdonképpen tánc és csöndes meditáció aktivitások váltakoztak nálam, néha közbeékeltem turistapróbálkozásokat amiket többször bántam meg mint nem.

Amin nagyon meglepődtem, hogy távolról, úgymint itthonról, fotókon nézve, a thai templomok - amiket wat-oknak fogok hívni helyi szóval, mert a templom szó asszociációja számomra nem stimmel ezek leírásáa - egyáltalán nem tetszettek, valahogy a képi világukhoz, díszítésük számomra nagyon távoláll. Ezt továbbra is tartom, hogy nem igazán értem, viszont mégis ahogy élőben megtekintettem párat, végtelenül elérzékenyültem többször is. Valahogy annyi energia, szeretet és odafigyelés van abban a rengeteg csicsás díszítésben, meg az egésznek a kialakításában, hogy így teljesen más értelmet nyer, mint csak egy pusztán vizuális élmény, ami fotón vagy tetszik vagy nem.

És valamivel később volt egy olyan megvilágosodásom is, hogy hát azért az időjárás sem lehet mellékes ebben a történetben, mert amikor a Wat Arunban beültem az egyik nem is tudom, mellék watba? vagy az csak egy szentélyhelyiség volt? nem értek hozzá, mindenesetre amikor odabementem a 33 fokos napsütésből, és törökülésben, vagy hát amennyire én tudok törökülni, beültem a töküres térbe, aminek csak a szélén az ablakban egy buddhista szerzetes hesszelt, teljesen elmélyedve az okostelefonjába, miközben ment rá a ventilátor levegője, akkor jöttem rá, hogy hát azért így ez elég jó megpihenés élmény, ilyen hatalmas, hűsítő épületeket összerakni olyan trópusi időjárásban, ahol amúgy egész évben 33 fok van, és ha esik akkor lavorból ömlik az eső. De itt még ezt nem fogtam fel, itt csak meditáltam egyet, az egyik kínainak tűnő hölgy mögé leülve, ami annyira jól sikerült, hogy mire fölálltam, hogy kimegyek és megfordultam, az egész terem tele volt törökülő turistákkal.

Aztán később nagyon durva volt az időjárásvonalon továbbvíve realizálni, hogy itt EGÉSZ ÉVBEN ilyen meleg van. Hogy így nem az van, hogy most nyár van és meleg és mindenki örül, és majd télen begubóznak, hanem ezek az emberek (már akik nem mennek máshova), NEM TUDJÁK, MI AZ A HIDEG. Tehát nem az van, hogy most pár hónapig elviselik a sok turistát, és jókedvűek mert kint lehet lenni, hanem ők egész évben, vagyis igazából folyamatosan, mindig tangapapucsban pólóban és kisgatyában mászkálnak, és az egyetlen szignifikáns időjárási ciklikusság náluk a monszun, amikor is féléven át kurvára esik. De akkor sincs hideg.

Most lehet hogy ez ilyen banális hülyeségnek tűnik, de ez nekem akkor is egy ilyen durva dimenzió volt, ezt így felfogni teljes egészében, főleg annak a fényében, hogy lankadatlanul, kimeríthetetlenül kedvesek az összes turistával, amit én valahogy magamnak először azzal magyaráztam meg, hogy jó hát bevétel, turista időszak, addig mosolyog, utána meg kipiheni. És így basszus nem, ez náluk a default, amire a legjobb magyarázatom a vallás lett: túlnyomórészük buddhista, ahol alapérték a kedvesség és segítőkészség. De ez olyan szinteket öltött, hogy én tényleg többször pityeredésig érzékenyültem el, mert akkor is ha nem turistás helyen voltam, mert van egy ilyen furcsa hobbim, hogy elcsászkálok ilyen kevésbé frekventált helyekre, akkor is előbbutóbb ha pár percnél tovább tébláboltam, valaki, és nem csak buddhista szerzetes, de ők főként, de szóval akárki odajött, és általában relatíve szörnyű angollal próbálták megtudakolni, hogy mit keresek, és aszerint útbairányítani. Például volt egy nap, amikor nagyon elegem lett abból a merész húzásomból, hogy órákat sétáltam a 33 fokban Bangkok belvárosában, és csak simán felszálltam 8 baht-ért (ami 80 Ft) egy helyi buszra, hogy várostnézzek, ráadásul Google Maps szerint olyan irányba ment, ami nem is tűnt rossz ötletnek, de aztán természetesen rohadtul nem arra ment a busz, mert mint utolsó nap rájöttem, egész idő alatt rosszul olvastam a buszjáratok számát (és még most sem tudom, hogy melyik szám mit kéne hogy jelentsen, megfejteni nem tudtam, csak arra jöttem rá, hogy teljesen rosszul csináltam, és kész csoda, hogy néha eljutottam oda, ahova szerettem volna), és amikor a kalauz nénivel erre együtt rájöttünk, akkor többeket izzított a buszon, hogy aki tud angolul az mondja el nekem, hogy mégis micsináljak, és végül nem is vetetett velem jegyet, csak aszonták hogy hol szálljak le és mire szálljak át. Ami amúgy kár volt, mert nekem mindegy volt hol, csak ülni akartam, de a szándékot nagyon értékeltem, ugyanúgy, ahogy egy másik alkalommal, amikor már este egy kereszteződésben viszonylag hosszasan tanakodtam, hogy mit szeretnék, akkor a kereszteződés túloldaláról kiabált rám egy homeless bácsi, akit már egy ideje láttam hogy néz, és felhívta magára a figyelmet kedvesen integetve, amit nem értettem, de mosolyogtam, több jelét nem akartam adni a nyitottságnak, mert azt hittem majd pénzt kér, de ennek ellenére átszaladt az egész kereszteződésen, hogy utána percekig thaiul lelkesen magyarázzon az egyik út meg a másik út fele mutogatva, egészen bizonyos vagyok benne, hogy azt magyarázta, hogy melyik hova vezet és hogy ő mit javasol, hogy hova menjek, majd mosolyogva fejetbiccentett és visszament a haverjához, én meg félszegen megilletődve sétáltam végül tovább, és már azt sem tudtam, hogy mit gondoljak erről a népségről.

Ráadásul ez pont azután az incidens után történt, hogy nekivágtam, hogy megnézzek egy épületet, amit már akkor kinéztem magamnak, amikor a reptérről hotelbe taxizás történt - bejelöltem google mapsen, aztán kiderült hogy eléggé kiesik és nem is igazi 'turistalátványosság', ez utóbbi nem tartott vissza de az előbbi problémás volt a buszok miatt. Végül odavergődtem, nem sokkal naplemente után, csak hogy realizáljam, hogy ez valószínűleg egyáltalán nem nyitott a közönség felé ez a dolog, mert hogy vagy vmi királyi dolog, vagy vmi egyéb kormányzati cucc. De gondoltam sebaj, mostmár legalább a kerítésig elmászok, bár a kerítéstől számítva még iszonyú messze, kb fél kilométerre állt a számomra lenyűgöző épület. Ahogy odaértem a kerítéshez, megláttam az őröket is, na gondoltam fasza, a végén még kiderül hogy ide tilos jönni, és mindjárt lecsuknak. Kevés dolgot tudtam ekkor még Thaiföldről, de az egyik az az, hogy ha bármi olyat mondasz vag teszel, ami pl a királyt sérti, akkor simán lecsuknak, és ugye még mindig nem voltam benne biztos, hogy ez milyen épület, csak azt, hogy valami magasztos, pláne hogy az odavezető sugárutat végigkísérték ezek a nagy csicsás képek a királyi családról, azt hiszem, bár ilyen máshol is előfordult. Beillesztek egy gugli mepsz linket nektek, hogy meg tudjátok nézni, az utat ami odavezet, és a palota a messzességben bár akkor naplemente hangulat volt, képzeljétek úgy, úgy még szebb volt.

Szóval mindezek után iszonyúan meglepődtem, amikor realizáltam hogy az őr mellett egy kis kapu van, ami nyitva van, így teljesen naív turistaként gondoltam szerencsét próbálok, és rámutattam, hogy 'Can I go in?' mire az őr hajlongva betessékelt, hogy természetesen. Na innentől aztán végképp furcsa volt minden, mert ott terebélyesedett ez a hatalmas épület, amiről még mindig nem tudtam semmit, azon kívül hogy Dusit Palace a neve google mapsen, egy hatalmas tátongó tér áll előtte ahol középen van vmi lovasszobor, az egész gyönyörű, és mégsincs itt rajtam kívül senki, csak vagy 4-5 őr, a tér különböző szegleteiben. Egyáltalán nem votlam benne biztos, hogy nem leszek lelőve, ha rossz helyre teszem a lábam, ezért az összes őrt a szemem sarkából figyelve lassan elkezdtem középre sétálni, testbeszéddel minden jelét adva, hogy nyitott vagyok rá, hogy vissza legyek tartva ettől, ha ezt nem szabad. Nagyon néztek, minden oldalról. Aztán pár perc után annyira kínosan éreztem magam, hogy inkább lemásztam a pálya szélére, ahol két őr is volt, ami börleszkszerűen percekig tartott, mert annyira nagy volt a tér, és akkor már az őrök is érezték, hogy vmit akarok. Angolul mondom nekik ismét, hogy 'Can I go there?' és a palota felé mutatok. Rázzák a fejüket, hogy 'No', én meg próbálom megtudakolni, hogy akkor mégis meddig szabad menni, hiszen ha már be lettem ide engedve, akkor valameddig mégiscsak szabad. Nem vagyok benne biztos, hogy mit mondtak, de én úgy értelmeztem, hogy halfway, és úgy ítéltem meg, hogy a lovasszobor van halfway, és addig fogok elsétálni, de közben végig figyeltem az összes őr összes rezdülését, mert mindenki jószándéka ellenére továbbra se voltam benne biztos, hogy vmi nem volt-e lost in translation, és igazán nem akartam bajba kerülni. Ezen a ponton bejött egy pár is a kapun, egy hatalmas rózsacsokorral, amivel a szoborig iszkoltak, és mintha imádkoztak volna, én pedig csak néztem ezt a jelenetet kb 20 méterről, miközben legalább 50 varjú repkedett és károgott körülöttünk. Csak hogy ilyen térérzetben hasonlót mondjak, úgy képzeljétek el, mintha a Hősök tere egyik végén állnék, csak az egész körbe van kerítve, és pár őr figyel, és nemigen van ember. Azt is elmondták az őrök, hogy nem szabad fotózni, így a sunyiban készült fotómat fel sem merem ide tölteni, kénytelenek vagytok a szavaimra hagyatkozni, vagy ráguglizni, hogy Dusit Palace. Aztán még percekig tébláboltam, nagyon szerettem volna közelebb menni, de nem kísértettem meg a dolgot, hanem elkezdtem 'lejönni' a hatalmas térről, és a szemem sarkából megintcsak látom, hogy az őr akivel korábban konzultáltam, nagyon figyel és szintén jön felém, és vmiért 'ki fog kísérni' a helyről. Én úgy éreztem, meghatotta ahogy viselkedtem, vagy legalábbis én úgy éreztem, hogy látványos lehetett, hogy a magasztos hely hatással volt rám, és zavaromban úgy éreztem, hogy mondanom is kell valamit amivel megmagyarázom, hogy mért hesszelek már lassan 15perce egy üres téren, ahol látszólag nem szokás hesszelni, így annyit mondtam neki ahogy szemkontaktust vett fel velem, hogy 'It's very beautiful' és az épületre mutattam. Ettől vmiért igénye lett magyarázni, és mivel az angolja már neki sem terjedt ennél tovább, thaiul magyarázott és mutogatott, volt egy szó amit többször elmondott, amit meg akartam jegyezni de elfeledtem, mindenesetre vmit nagyon át akart adni, és én nagyon bólogattam.

Aztán kísért kifele, és megkérdezi:
'where are you from?'
'Hungary'
'Hungary... okay.' szerintem nem mondott neki semmit, de elraktározta az információt. 'how long are you in Thailand?'
itt smalltalk következett arról, hogy hány napot vagyok hol. a végén pedig aszonta:
'It was very nice to meet you. I hope you will enjoy your stay in Thailand'
'Kop koon kaa' próbáltam thaiul megköszönni, és pont ugyanannyira meghajolni közben, mint ő.

Na, és mindezek után a szürreális élmény után volt még a hajléktalan bácsis jelenet.

Értitek már, hogy mit magyarázok, amikor azt mondom, hogy rendíthetetlenül kedvesek és segítőkészek? Éljen a buddhizmus, éljenek a buddhisták. Ezek után nem is tudom eldönteni, hogy éppen hogy meglepő vagy sem, hogy a szerzeteseknek is át kell adni a helyet a metrón :)

Btw, most így cikkírás közben gyorsan rákerestem: a Dusit Palace valóban a király elsődleges lakhelye. Még szerencse, hogy tényleg helyesen viselkedtem. �����

Na ma ennyire volt szuflám. :)

Na szépjóestét hölgyekurak.
Illetve délutánt, mert szerintem otthoni idő szerint még délután fogom kitenni eztet, de itten már este 10 van.

Na szóval, ezúttal keletnek vettem az irányt, Thaiföld előtt Qatarban volt egy átszállás, ahol

egy félelmetesen olvadó Micimackó-szoborral való találkozás után sikeresen megtaláltam a legfontosabb helyiségeket, for all your praying and smoking needs:

Unrelated, de tudtátok, hogy a Louis Vuitton szájmaszkokat is gyárt? Én sem. Ami vagy nagyon durva, vagy egy jó poén, de mindenesetre ezt a márkalányt muszáj volt lefotóznom:

Az éjjeli repülőút után - amin indokolatlanul keveset aludtam, cserébe az indokoltnál sokkal több étel és film állt rendelkezésre, mint amire szükségem lett volna - helyi idő szerint délben sikeresen leszálltam, vagy hát nem én, hanem a repülőm, Bangkokban.

Az első, és eddigi talán legnagyobb megpróbáltatás a reptérről való kijutás volt, újdsonsült brit haverommal a repülőről tanakodtunk, hogy vajon a Grab alkalmazásban felém közeledő pötty és az én lokációmat jelölő pöttyhöz képest az utak amik előttem vannak milyen relációban képzelendőek el. Hálistennek megoldottuk, a feladványt, és azt is, hogy ez miért volt ilyen nehéz - amit először 'egy átlag bangkoki buszmegálló' állapotnak, kicsit később egy sztrájknak képzeltem, arról a taxisofőr által 'beszélgetés' alapján kiderült hogy valami celebriti okán többezer fiatal ücsörgött és illemtudóan várakozott majd sikítozott az ifjú érkezésekor.

Elvergődvén a hotelig, egy gyors power-nap után nyakamba vettem a várost, illetve a bulinegyedet. És bevallom, már rég azt hittem, hogy megjártam a legturistább buliutcát, mert először voltak élőkoncertes szórakozóhelyek, aztán egyre több, aztán elhalt, és akkor azt hittem na, körbejártam, aztán valahol valami sikátorban egy ilyen dimenziókapuba kerültem, aminek a végén kijőve a Gozsduban voltam, amit felszoroztak 50nel, evör-hömpölgyő turistaáradattal és ordító zenével minden oldalról. GOZSDU ON STEROIDS, a trademarkolt elnevezésem a jelenségre. Kéretik megfigyelni a videó végén, a kilapított (?) szárított halat (??) árusító bácsi és a kiskocsija, aki a 6féle ordító nyugati zene közepette halálnyugalommal lapította és árulta a halakat.

Miután már kemény 100 és 200 baht-okat (kb 1-2ezer forint) kiadtam egykét (leiható) belépőért, de nem láttam sehol táncolást, nekem meg vészesen közeledett a 'csak akkor maradok ébren ha most még tánc lesz vagy ének, különben én elmegyek aludni' állapot, így végül utolsó próbálkozás gyanánt megállapodtam egy ingyenes helyen, ahol egy 60as bácsi épp térdreesve hegedülést mímelt a 40-50es hölgyeménynek, aki olyan durván ropta, hogy az egész Khao San partinegyedben éreztem, hogy itt központosul az énfajta táncenergiám. Oda is mentem, hogy elmondjam nekik hogy ez zseniális, de nemigen értettek semmit, hangos is volt és az angoljuk pokolian rossz volt, így kénytelenek voltunk örömünket eltáncolni, aminek az lett a vége, hogy turisták helyiek egyaránt pacsiztak velünk egészeste - vagy hát főként az idősebb párocskával, akik hát na, irtó jó arcok voltak. Van legalább 30percnyi videó a bácsi telefonján az eseményekről, de nekem csak erre a kellemetlen szelfire futotta a hölgyeménnyel és a csapódó kisráccal, mementóul álljon ez itt az éjszakáról:

A mai napon pedig, miután konstatáltam, hogy az útikönyv amit magammal hoztam, teljesen használhatatlan

elcsászkáltam kis utcákon, és belebotlottam egy kisebb templomba, ahol úgy alapból elállt a lélegzetem az aurától, és aztán a sok cizellált díszítéstől, illetve az ottdolgozók kedvességétől teljesen könnybelábadt a szemem. Az megmár csak hab a tortán, hogy az a drága vidám buddhista szerzetes egy napernyőt használt sétapálcának, és azzal mászkált fel-alá, mint valami rajzfilmfigura, ami engem nagyon boldoggá tett.

Igazából a nap fénypontja visszanézve ez volt, meg kis meditálás amit a könnybelábadás után végeztem a templom mögött, egészen addig amíg iszonyú kedvesen rám nem szóltak, hogy nem szabad ott ülni, ahol ülök. Mert bár ezután elmentem megnézni még jó pár turista dolgot, de ez az én picit szentélyem volt, a tébolyult metropolisz éjszaka után.

Jó turistaként jeges teával azért nyakamba vettem a várost utána

De ahelyett hogy a nagyon szar minőségű képeimet mutogatnám azokról a dolgokról, amikről millió sokkal jobb minőségű kép van fent az interneten, most inkább ideteszek még pár randomabb pillanatocskát:

Záró sztori, hazafelemenet nagyon sokáig kerestem a buszmegállót, ami mellett Google maps szerint 4szer travoltáztam el, mikor is megjelent a busz - a másik irányból. :D Elfelejtettem hogy a másik oldalon járnak.

Na megyek, lehet még belefér egy éjszakai thai massázs :)

Miután többen is kérték, hogy osszam az észt (!), észtországi beszámolóm következik. (Először azt gépeltem le, hogy összam...)

Nos, mivel Helsinkiben elmaradt a kultúrálódásom, ezért gyorsan pótoltunk, és Helen barátnőmmel pár év kihagyás után a tallinni design múzeumban találkoztunk, ahol kielégíthettem szép tárgyak nézegetése iránti igényemet pl ilyen csodás vitrinek előtt:

Utána pedig a mesebeli város főtéren lévő karácsonyi vásárba mentünk, és örültünk a fejünknek:

De talán még ennél is jobban örültem (najó nem) a végtelen mennyiségű Glöginek, illetve Glögi feliratnak. Olyannyira, hogy kénytelen voltam egy glögifet (!!!!) gyártani:

Ja és, tru story, az egyik standnál végre vettem is egy pohár glögit ezúttal, és művelődni kívánván, megkérdeztem az áruslányt:

- Sorry could you tell me what's in the glögi?

A lány elgondolkodik, pár másodperc után elkezdett nevetni és azt válaszolta:

- Umm, I actually don't know. :D

- Okay, well thanks anyway.

Talán jobb is így, örök rejtély marad.

Mindenesetre a karácsonyi vásár tényleg felháborítóan cuki volt:

és amúgy a város többi része is felháborítóan ékszeresdobozka volt, fölcsúszkáltam a jégen havon ilyen kilátópontokba, és az azért nagy pluszpont Helsinkihez képest, hogy volt vár, óváros, hegyecskedombocska. ilyen városképileg hangulatilag ez nagyon hiányzott ott nekem azt hiszem.

Másnap az lett volna az elgondolás, hogy Helen elvisz ilyen mocsaras vidékre természet nézni, de olyan durva hóvihar volt, hogy már a főtéren alig bírtam megmaradni:

Így helyette ráakadtam pár cuki dizájner boltocskára meg meglátogattam Európa legrégebbi gyógyszertárát, ahol még unikornis port is lehetett kapni régen:

Eléggé odavoltam a kis 8-ágú hópehelyszerű dokerációiért ami szanaszét volt dobálva a városban, bár nem sikerült megtudnom, mi a neve ennek a látszólag vmi nemzetiféle jelecskének. Ha vki tudja, írja meg!

Aztán a nap második felében Helenék hazavittek Tartuba, ahol élnek, és ahol odaérkezésünkkor -13 fok volt, de reggelre már -17, csak hogy kellően északi legyen a kirándulásom. Amúgy addig -3 körül volt az egész országban, csak én még pont kaptam egy csöppet a plusz lehűlésből :)

Így másnap libazsírral az arcunkon felfegyverkezve (mármint egy krém ami libazsíros, nem az étel) futólépésben még gyorsan nyakunkba vettük a kisvároskát, hogy még albumborítót meghazudtoló művészi képeket lőjön rólam Helen ahogy melankólikusan állok a dóm oszlopai között a napsütötte -17 fokban:

Aztán futottunk a buszpályaudvarhoz, ahol utolsó pillanatban jutott eszembe hogy levegyem a kölcsön mackónadrágot amit a farmerom fölé húztam hogy ne fagyjak meg - itt ennek örülünk így szerfölött, és igen, az arcunk a libazsírtól csillog. (Btw, észtül is medvenadrág a mackónadrág!)

Külön fincsiség volt, hogy a távolsági buszomon a vécé azért nem működött, mert be volt fagyva. Én ezt nem tudtam, mert nem értettem amikor bemondták, így hát rángattam az ajtaját, mire egy utas elmagyarázta, hogy nem nem, fagyás. Majd hozzátette, hogy 'it happens quite often.' :D Fasza. De hálistennek a buszsofőr nagyon kedvesen elmagyarázta, hogy majd melyik megállónál tudok elmenni mosdóba - ő sem erősítette az észt nemzeti barátságtalánság sztereotípiát. :)

Aztán a hazaút vissza Helsinkin keresztül vezetett, életem legrövidebb repülőútja volt az első láb (?), konkrétan 35 percet volt a telefonom repülőüzemmódban.

Aztán innentől már csak hazatérés, és most blogposztírás volt.

És most ennyi.

A glögi legyen veletek! :D

Annyira régen írtam erre a blogra bármit, hogy teljesen bizonytalan vagyok benne, hogy milyen nyelven is kéne azt tenni. Úgyhogy most nekikezdek úgy, ahogy jön, aztán meglátjuk értelmezhető-e. 

Korábban már kaptam egy kommentet, miszerint a blogom neve már nem aktuális - lévén, hogy már újból Budapesten élek. És bár ez önmagában valóban így van, és már én is elgondolkodtam, hogy új blogot kéne indítani, most mégis történt velem valami, ami éppen bolygóhollandiságomhoz kapcsolódik.

A hétvégét Amszterdamban és környékén töltöttem. És most, a hazaköltözésem óta először, otthonosan éreztem magam mélyföldén. Talán azért is, mert most először volt időm rendesen a városban lenni - elsétálni a régi lakóhelyeim mellett, a parkoknál, ahol napoztam (amikor lehetett), és a volt munkahelyemnél. Furcsa érzés volt, mintha időutaztam volna pár évvel ezelőttre és valójában sose mentem volna el - már már majdhogynem ijesztően otthonos és ismerős volt minden: az emberek, az utcakép, és a kacsák a csatornákon.

Találkoztam barátokkal, a világ minden tájáról, és magyarokkal. Beszéltem angolul, magyarul, hollandul. Hollandul rendeltem, és holland bankkártyával fizettem. Tudtam mi merre hány lépés, mint amikor valaki hazatér.

És ez az, ami megakasztott. Nem olyan érzés volt, mintha látogatóba lennék, hanem mintha hazatérnék.

Dehát... nem épp azért költöztem vissza Budapestre, mert honvágyam volt? Nem Budapest az otthonom? Akkor most ez mi ez az érzet?

Azt hiszem, ez jelenség amit most megélek, a kétlakiság velejárója. Illetve annak, hogy hazaköltöztem. Aki valaha lakott pár évet külföldön, vagy legalábbis szülőhelyétől távolabb, más kultúrában, közegben, majd onnan eljött, de később visszament látogatni, bizonyára megélte már ezt az érzést. Mintha otthon lennél, de közben mégsem, mintha időutaznál egy korábbi éned, életed egy korábbi állomásába, olyan mintha éberen álmodnál, és valahol nagyon jó, de valahol meg nagyon ijesztő, mert olyan mintha nem lenne jelened. Kicsit elveszted saját magadat, időben és térben, és egy érzéki zűrzavarban találod magad ami úgy zsonglőrködik az elméddel, emlékeiddel, hogy érzelmileg is teljesen megkavarodsz, és hirtelen azt hiszed hogy mindent tudsz és minden világos, a következő pillanatban pedig mindent megkérdőjelezel.

Éberen álmodtam, úgy mászkáltam fel-alá mint egy beszívott holdkóros. Vigyorogtam, imádtam, hitetlenkedtem, hogy milyen jó is ez a hely, azt éreztem, hogy idetartozom, majd összeszorult a szívem, hogy most nem értem, mivan, most nyaralok? Vagy hazajöttem? Hol vagyok és mivan, és egyáltalán semmit sem értek.

És közben be-bevillant Budapest, az emberek, akik nekem most ott fontosak, az életem, és hülye teendők, orvosi időpontok, hogy be kell rakni majd a mosást, meg hogy menni kell majd dolgozni. Na ezek a pillanatok azért közben helyre-helyreraktak. Hogy 'bori higgadás, te most budapesten élsz, és mindjárt visszamegyünk.'

És ilyen furcsa nyugtalanság ült rám, vissza akartam jönni minél előbb, mert valahogy azt éreztem, hogy nehezen értelmezem ezt a párhuzamos univerzumban létezést. Hogy egyrészt minél többet vagyok itt, annál jobban összezavarodom, és mi lesz, ha nem fogok tudni elköszönni, mert beszippant a holland életem, ami még túlságosan a közelmúltból kísért ahhoz, hogy megfelelő nosztalgikus távolságból tudjak rá nézni, túlságosan élesek és valósak az emlékek ahhoz, hogy szépiás szűrőn keresztül lássam őket. Nem, ez full-on reality, és még ráadásul nem is változott semmi - másfél év alatt emberek se öregednek, meg egy városkép se változik meg. Najó, megépült a Noord/Zuidlijn metróvonal, ami ekvivalens azzal, mint amikor a 4-es metró már ott volt mire hazaértem, de kb ennyi. (Ja meg jó idő volt, budapest-típusú jó idő, ami valószínűleg még csalókábbá tette az egész ittlétemet).

És közben azért is el akartam jönni, mert valahol meg nagyon is éreztem, hogy húz vissza a jelenem, hogy igazából nehéz, és majdhogynem fájdalmas és megterhelő nekem most itt lenni. Lehet, hogy még nem álltam készen arra, hogy újra rendesen randizzak egyet Amszterdammal, a szakításunk óta?...

Szóval hát ez ilyen ez a kétlakiság. Ambivalens.

Hogy azt érzed, két otthonod van, de közben egy sem.
Hogy két anyanyelved van, de közben egy sem.
Hogy túlcsordul a szíved, annyi embert ismersz és szeretsz, de közben mindenki messze van tőled.
Hogy boldog vagy, de közben mégis szomorú.
Hogy szerencsés vagy, és egyben átkozott.

És, sajnos avagy nem, ez a kétlakiság azt hiszem egy állandó velejárója a létemnek mostantól. Mert igenis egy egész nagy fejezet Hollandiához köt, amihez Magyarországon semelyik barátom nemigen tud kapcsolódni, élmények amikkel teljesen magam vagyok, zárványszerűen, a kis pesti létezésemben. Bár persze nem mindig van ez előtérben, de valahol meg mégis ottmunkálkodik ez a háttérben a kétlaki ember lelki processzeiben, folyamatosan.  Valószínűleg a dolog akkor a legmarkánsabb, amikor az ember megéli a határmesgyét - meglátogatja az egyik lakát a másik lakából. Akkor ténylegesen rázuhan az emberre a dolog, mint egy nagyon nagyon hevi dejavu, és csak hagyni kell, hogy az emberen átmossanak az emlékek hullámok érzelmek özöne, és reménykedik benne, hogy a megfelelő érzések a megfelelő helyekre ülepednek a lelkében.

Most épp a reptérre tartok. A vonaton kinézve ugyanazt a tájat látom, mint mindig - sokat viccelődtem azzal, hogy amíg Utrecht és Rotterdam között ingáztam egy évig, még az utolsó hetekben is simán megijedtem néha a vonatút alatt, hogy rossz vonatra szálltam fel, mert az alapján, hogy mit látok az ablakból, egyszerűen soha nemtudom meg mondani, hogy merrefele vagyunk. Mert mindenhol ugyanaz van: alföld, állatok, csatornák, cuki kis házak, és néha egy város. Semmi referenciapont nincsen ahhoz, hogy Hollandián belül elhelyezzem magam a táj alapján, mert minden lapos.

Ez régen nyomasztott. Most mosolygok rajta.

És közben már azon gondolkodom, hogy vajon mikor is megyek kirándulni a Budai hegyekbe.

Idén márciusban végre újra elkezdtem merni biciklizni. Azért mondom, hogy végre, és hogy merni, mert Amszterdam után kicsit sokkoló a budapesti biciklizés - 100%-os bicikliutas lefedettség után iszonyú ijesztő volt újra autók közvetlen közelében avagy között menni, és igencsak nehezemre esik felidézni és elhinni, hogy kb 8 éve simán mindennap legurultam a Hegyalja úton és át az Erzsébet hídon, buszok és autók mellett/mögött/előtt/között suhanva. El lettem kényeztetve a biciklik országában, na. Ahogy ezt meg is jósoltam magamnak annó a kiköltözés előtt.

Na de a lényeg, hogy ezt most végre legyűrtem, és újra merek bringázni, és ehhez kapcsolódik egy nagyon érdekes kizökkentő élményem. Hollandiában a bringákon a nagy kikötős lakatokon kívül mindegyiken kivétel nélkül van egy ilyen kis kerékzár, ami az ülésed alatt van rögzítve a hátsó kerékre. Ebben lóg a kulcscsomód, mert akkor van nyitva mikor benne van a kulcs, és amikor leparkolsz és bemész a boltba, lezárod és kiveszed a kulcsot. És konkrétan csak ennyivel zárod le a biciklit, ha csak beugrasz a boltba - nem kötöd ki semmihez. Semmihez. Nem. Lakatolod. Oda. Csak a kereket, a biciklihez, a kerékzárral.

No most ezt az 'ülés-alá-nyúlok-lakatot-lezárom-kiveszem-a-kulcsom' mozdulatot olyan sokezerszer hajtottam végre, hogy teljesen reflexszerűvé vált - így az első pár hétben az itthoni biciklimnél is (amin nyilván nincs ilyen zár), folyton az ülés alatt hadonásztam mindig mikor megálltam, amit aztán ügyesen álcázni próbáltam, mintha csak csekkolnám a csomagtartóm és pontosan tudnám micsinálnék és egyáltalán nem egy nemlétező tárgyat keresnék bolond módjára.

Aztán ezután a műsor után viszont mindig jött az a probléma, hogy akkor viszont mit is kell ilyenkor csinálni, kerékzár helyett? Ki kéne kötni a bringát valahova, ugye? Itthon ez a módi. (Félreértés ne essék, Hollandiában is kikötik a bringákat, de csak hosszabb időre, vagy éjszakára, ha valahol csak futólag állsz meg, nem szokás.) Jobb esetben ilyenkor találok egy erre a célra kialakított valamit, amihez adekvát módon kiköthetem a biciklit, rosszabb esetben pedig kreatívnak kell lennem, és a legabszurdabb tárgyakhoz fogom hozzáláncolni a biciklim annak vélt biztonsága érdekében. Ezt mondjuk pont nem én követtem el, de elkeseredett sietségemben már majdnem előfordult velem is:

Meg kell hogy mondjam, nagyon nehezen szokom vissza arra, hogy mindig mindenhol, bármilyen rövid ideig is állok meg, valamiHEZ kössem ki a bringámat. És az az igazság, hogy ilyenkor mindig viaskodik bennem valami, mert én valójában nem is akarom valamihez kikötni a bringámat. Két okból: egyrészt iszonyú macerás, másrészt pedig a pár perc alatt amíg a boltban vagyok kétlem, hogy bárki keréklakatostul a hóna alá csapja a bringámat és elsétál vele (mondjuk ez azért is abszurd mert az én kerékpárom rémesen nehéz egy darab). Szóval egyrészt idegesítő procedúra, másrészt meg szeretnék hinni abban, hogy igenis kinthagyhatom 5 percre a biciklimet a bolt előtt kerékzárral, és nem fogja senki elvinni. De körbenézek, és látom, hogy bizony mindenkié hozzá van láncolva valamihez, és emiatt a furcsa peer pressure miatt végül csak kikötöm az enyémet én is, de közben baromira szitkozódom, mert annyira kényelmetlen és felesleges hercehurca naponta ötször azt a marha nagy láncot átvetni a küllőkön meg vissza.

Miért is mesélem el mindezt, ilyen részletesen. Azért, mert ez a kis különbség, a bicikli ki- illetve ki nem kötés kapcsán, jó mutatója annak a témának, amit most már másfél év után meg tudok fogalmazni, hogy a legnehezebbnek és legfájdalmasabbnak élek meg a budapesti életbe való visszailleszkedésem során: és ez nem más, mint az emberek iránti bizalom, illetve a bizalmatlanság. Ez utóbbi az, amitől teljesen elszoktam. Megint csak ne essék félreértés, Hollandiában is lopnak biciklit, SŐT. De valahogy az alapélményem ott élve egy magasabb fokú bizalom az emberek felé. Vagy legalábbis kevesebb aggódás azon, hogy kiben is lehet megbízni, így a hétköznapok során. Mert hogy Hollandiában nemigen jut eszedbe, hogy mi lesz a bicikliddel a bolt előtt. De ezer más kis apróságban is megnyilvánul ez, például amikor már ott voltam egy ideje, gázszerelőt is úgy hívtam, hogy az elsőt akit találtam a neten, és háziorvoshoz pedig gondolkodás nélkül a címemhez tartozóhoz jelentkeztem be, míg itthon ennek jó eséllyel elsőkörben a körbekérdezés lenne a bevett módja, hogy valaki ajánljon jó és megbízható gázszerelőt vagy háziorvost. Persze, Amszterdamban is jól jön az ajánlás bármiféle szolgáltatás igénybevétele előtt, de az inkább csak egy plusz, hab a tortán, nem alapkövetelmény semmihez. Itthon meg fordítva, mintha a bizalmatlanság lenne az alap, ami csak ismerős vagy ajánlás révén vált át bizalomba.

És értem én, hogy ez egy komplexebb társadalmi jelenség illetve probléma része, aminek az okozati kivizsgálásába nem kívánok belemászni ebben a blogposztban. Én itt most csak megfigyeltem mindennapos cselekvéseket illetve cselekvésbeli különbségeket, magamon, és másokon, és ezek alapján az fogalmazódott meg bennem, hogy olyan mintha itthon még egy ilyen törzsi-véri szisztémában gondolkodnánk. Mintha nem ugrottuk volna még meg azt a fejlettségi szintet társadalmilag, ahol kölcsönösen megelőlegezett bizalommal fordulnánk olyanokhoz, akiket nem ismerünk, ami jóval hatékonyabbá tenné a mindennapjainkat. Ugyanis ezt most látom, érzem, ebből a perspektívából, hogy egészen meglepő, hogy ez a bizalmatlanság napi szinten mennyi energiába és időbe kerül, mindenkinek, egyesével.

Hogy mennyire sok energiába és időbe is kerül, ennek remek jó példája még az a nagyon látványos és szimbolikus városképi különbség is, hogy az amszterdami lakásokon nincsen rács, még azokon az ajtókon sem, amik közvetlenul az utcára nyílnak. A lakótársaim se zárták a bejárati ajtót kulccsal, csak bevágtunk magunk mögött munkába menet, és csak akkor fordítottuk rá a kulcsot külön, ha elutaztunk. Ehhez képest Budapesten még a bérházak körfolyosóin is minden ajtón rács van. Amit minden alkalommal zársz, nyitsz, istentudja hány másodpercig. Remek feladvány adatbányász barátaimnak, kiszámítani éves szinten a két nép mennyi időt tölt rácszárogatással és biciklilakatolással, kíváncsi lennék!

Amszterdami rácstalanság

Budapesti rácsosság
 

Persze mindeközben nem akarok úgy tenni, mintha ne emlékeznék arra, hogy milyen is Budapesten élni, mert mégiscsak itt nőttem fel. De őszintén szólva borzasztóan jó érzés volt, amikor ezek a dolgok átprogramozódtak a fejemben, a kiköltözés utáni időszakban. A bicikli-lekötés kapcsán emlékszem a pillanatra, amikoris magyarból konvertálódtam hollandba - ugyanis eleinte nyilván azt is nagyon nehezen szoktam meg, hogy igenis otthagyhatom a biciklit a bolt előtt csak a keréklakattal. Nem akartam elhinni, páni félelem fogott el az első bár bevásárlókörutam alkalmával, és végig az ablakon át lestem ki, csekkolni, hogy tényleg igaz-e, ezt tényleg el lehet itt játszani, hogy így otthagyom a biciklit? 

És igen, ott lehet. Sőt, ami ennél még durvább, a biciklitáskámban is bennehagyhatom a hazaúton már elintézett bevásárlásaimat, amíg még más boltokba bemegyek.

Erről egy holland kollegám világosított fel, ami meghatározó mérföldkő volt a holland létemben. Álljon is itt zárásul a vele való párbeszédem:

- Szóval tényleg csak így itthagyod az összes cuccot a biciklitáskában amíg bemész a másik boltba?
- Persze, miért ne?
- És mi van, ha valaki elviszi?
- Mit, a kaját amit vettem?
- Igen.
- Hát, ha valaki kilopja a kenyeret a biciklitáskámból amíg vásárolok, akkor valószínűleg úgyis nagyobb szüksége van rá, mint nekem.

By now it's been a bit more than a year that I have moved back to my hometown, Budapest. It's actually 400 days today, to be exact, which doesn't really mean anything but I thought it's cool and round enough of a number to mention. Good timing for a blog post! :)

I've been meaning to write about the 'aftermath' of moving home, and in general the whole experience of being back in Hungary, but somehow I haven't managed to get around to it until now. And frankly, this is only partially because of procrastination - the other big part in this is that I have a hard time figuring out how to capture the complexity of such a life-changing event. Where do I even start? What do I want to say... I mean, I have a lot to say, but can I encompass the full spectrum of thoughts and emotions that come about when someone moves home after more than 5 years of living abroad? In one blog post? I don't know if that's possible, I don't think it is. So for now, in this post, I'm giving a shot at capturing at least one strain of thought from this bundle that has been with me for a while.

I have recently published a post which included a video of my top reasons for moving home. Of course I had to simplify things a bit to fit half-a-year's worth of mental and emotional process leading up to a cross-Europe move into a 5-minute talk. Nevertheless, I've come to find that it's still pretty accurate.

Weather,
food,
landscape,
connection with people (language and friends).

I remember flying here multiple times last summer, for festivals and weddings of amazing friends, and I kept wandering around the city, enjoying the sights, eating the food, talking to people, and I felt so at peace, so good about everything that I remember starting to be confused on why I don't live here. 'Remind me again, what is the reason for me not living here?' - was a question I posed myself, and I had a hard time coming up with good answers. I also had a hard time finding an interesting job in the Netherlands at the time, and felt increasingly isolated from my surroundings. 'Remind me, why do live in Amsterdam again?'... Once I had no real response to this question, I knew it was time. Ironically, I found a job in no time in Budapest, and before I knew it I only had 2 months left to pack and say goodbye to a life of 5 years.

I need to mention at this point though, that the idea of leaving the Netherlands didn't come to me in the last couple months leading up to the move. It has been with me, for a year or two, to go either to Berlin or back home. So it wasn't a spontaneous decision made because I had a couple of rough months unemployed. I want to stress this, because frankly, life didn't throw fewer struggles at me in Budapest. On the contrary actually - I don't know if I've ever endured this much heartache and career drama as I did now in 2017. But I don't want to pack my things and go. Because I chose to be here. (As opposed to the Netherlands where I more followed someone and went for an opportunity rather then having my mind made up about wanting to be specifically in that place. Which by the way I do not regret for one second, on the contrary, it's probably been one of the most enriching experiences of my life. But ironically it's also what made me realize where I'd rather be.) I *like* and *want* to be in Budapest right now and that gives me motivation. It's like in the book, 'The subtle art of not giving a fuck' (which by the way I recommend highly to anyone) - peace of mind doesn't come from not giving a fuck about anything, but for struggling for things you WANT to struggle for. Right now, for me, in Budapest, I have all these small things that give me joy everyday and make me happy, happy that I have made this decision to be here:

Sunshine,
tasty greasy food that makes me feel at home,
beautiful sights and hills I can climb,
and silly Hungarian words and phrases I get to say out loud and giggle at
with my friends like 'mi a helykó' and 'sujtásos dolmány'.

But all the while, heartaches are just as painful, work struggles are still a thing, everyday, all the time. Life as such did not become easier at all. It just *feels* easier, because my batteries are better charged on a daily basis because of all the things that make me smile. Or something like that. At least that's my theory right now, which is probably not universal and not even permanent. Maybe in 400 days I will think differently, and by then have added other priorities to my list of things I like, and maybe there will be another time when it won't be Budapest anymore that qualifies as best place for me. Who knows.

I find it rather unlikely that that would happen anytime soon though. I have been way too happy walking around the city looking at beautiful buildings and places. And, I have actually realized I left out a very important reason for my move home:

SPACE.

Seriously, Hungary, even Budapest, is *full* of space, compared to say Amsterdam, where in the city center I often felt suffocated. You can't imagine how free I feel every freaking day when I walk around and have the whole pavement, or half the street, or even half of Városliget to myself. Just to give you a taste, check out the most famous park in Amsterdam, Vondelpark, on a typically sunny day, versus Városliget, below:

Speaking of which, I think I'll go for my first walk of 2018. And the first walk of my next 400 days in Budapest. :)

There's a lot of stuff I realized about Hungary, specifically Budapest, since I lived abroad.

A huge chunk of this is basically just realizing the stuff I really like, stuff I was really missing while living in the Netherlands. I gave an allegedly entertaining talk about the gist of the things I adore in my hometown, so here you go, knock yourself out!

More elaborate comparative write-up about the moving home experience in the making - stay tuned!

So I have to admit, I was surprised and humbled by the commotion that my previous post about traveling generated. Okay, commotion might sound a bit exaggarated, but pageviews really peaked - I had 153 reads so far and more than 50 facebook likes (thank you!). It's interesting and also thrilling that I've struck a chord with so many people with this topic. Seems like this might be a subject relevant to many of us.

I also had some people comment or write me critique, or additions to my thoughts (thank you!). They very rightfully pointed out some of the shortcomings of my previous argumentation, which is why I felt the need to write a follow-up post.

I might have been a bit too pivotal in my reasoning before, but so I would like to now make it clear that I agree and admit that comparing international travel to domestic travel is a bit comparing apples and oranges. They aren't really the same, and one isn't inherently better or worse than the other. Each have different meaning and purpose, require different resources and tools. 

So why did I compare them in the first place? I was trying to grasp a clash of values, a problem if you will that I've been witnessing around me, and I used the analogy of theses 2 types of travel as a means to represent the polarities of this paradigm.

'Fast food tourism'

One of which is the 'fast-food' type tourism, which I believe international travel is more prone to. I am ambivalent about this shallow form of travel, because while it is very entertaining to do at times, it's a luxury of the wealthy, and not very eco-friendly which is something that personally bothers me. I feel like it's about 'consuming' places, sights and their local specialties (or the fast-food), and then throwing away the disposable parts and moving on.

I'm conflicted about this form of travel because I believe many people do it because they have some sort of need to just 'get away' - which in itself is totally fine. However, I feel like they 'use' these places as a means to distract themselves from their everyday life. The novelty of all the new shiny things puts them in the moment, finally allowing them to switch off and relax - in a way, using whatever new place they visited as a disposable mindfulness towel if you will. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with craving that happy-being-in-the-moment tourist feeling - but this is where my argument about domestic travel creeps back in: you don't *need* to go abroad just to be mindful and relax. Switching into that mode in which you just observe and connect to your surroundings shouldn't be something that you can only do if you go at least 500 kms away. Shiny new things, even if they are tiny, are literally behind any corner that you have never been to yet, possibly within a block around your house. So if you just crave to have a little of that awe feeling, I really recommend practicing that *everyday*, *anywhere*. It really is a win-win for all, as it's not only much more sustainable environmentally, but also budget-friendly. And you even save time. Loads of it too!

An additional layer of complexity that comes into play when I think about this stuff is my general annoyance with people who say traveling is their hobby. Or when they simply say 'I love to travel.' Like wanting to and traveling to places was something unique, like it's the hallmark of being open-minded, or smart, or cool, or whatever - where in reality traveling in the form we usually think about is pretty much only related to your income. Okay, possibly maybe other circumstances in your life, like choosing a job that allows you to travel, but let's be real: it's mostly just about money. Having had your pictures taken in Times Square, on The Great Walll of China or at the beach in Rio, isn't an accomplishment in itself - unless it is, because you walked there on foot or something. But for most people this is just a luxurious opportunity, something they arrogantly refer to as a 'hobby.' 

vs. 'Deliberate tourism'

So until now I described what I more or less mean when I say 'fast-food' tourism, although I guess you could call it 'shallow' or 'accidental' tourism too. And from there, if I have to reconstruct the other pole, I guess I'd call it 'deliberate' tourism. And the main distinctions I would make compared to the previous type would be in terms of intention and time. Intention mostly in regards to the place: if you go to a specific place not out of pure chance (needing a disposable mindfulness towel) but because of some specific interest or meaning - may it be because you are visiting distant relatives you have never met before, or you are going to the Amazonas because ever since you were a kid that was your dream and it's a major item on your bucketlist. And then in these cases it's the actual location in itself that has meaning, not the simple fact of 'being away from home'. (Athough, on second thought, I do think 'being away from home' can also be the intended location, which again just underlines how fluid these concepts are and how I'm also just trying to make sense of it all and potentially failing at it miserably.)
Regarding the time factor, I think the shorter the time we spend somewhere, the more likely it is to turn into 'consuming' the place. Whereas the more time we get to be somewhere, the more we will learn and grow, and the more that place will have meaning for us. I think this is a no-brainer correlation, and there isn't much else to add to it. Of course we all have time constraints, and again, not everyone has the luxury to spend a year wandering around Asia between jobs. So I'm not saying the more time you spend somewhere your time spent will necessarily be more 'valuable'. However, I do think that trying to cramp in for example as many attractions into the available time as possible might be something to rethink - giving yourself time to enjoy fewer places might be a more enriching experience.

While writing this, I stumbled on this quote on the internet:

Who knows if it's really from the Dalai Lama, but I like how it underlines my points - first of all it sets the frequency to once a year (it's luxury if you do it more often), and I love the vagueness of 'someplace', how it only has the criteria of 'never been before.' That can be pretty much anything, from the other point of the globe to your attic. 

While I think there is still many aspects of this topic that could be covered and many more layers of complexity to be unraveled, I hope as a first step I managed to somewhat broaden the domestic-vs.-international travel paradigm debate onto a more abstract level of how we think about travel. This isn't the full picture yet, I still might be 'wrong' (although I don't think there is any right or wrong on this), I still might be missing many elements to this story - I most probably am. I can only know as much as I know and think about right now. Maybe, once I'm even wiser, there will be another follow-up post in the future...

Last but not least, I also hope that I was able to shed some light onto the fact that hopping around and ticking off destinations like a to do list might not be how you get the most out of your travel. If it's only a burst of mindfulness that you need, it's not the distance, or not even the place that's going to make a difference. It's you. 

And because that last sentence is waaaay too cheesy, I'll just disperse the awkwardness of it with a somewhat related picture of cute dogs.

It's been 11 months now that I moved home to Budapest from the Netherlands. Nearing the 1-year mark I am planning to do a post on the whole process and learnings of the whole moving back thing, but before doing that I did want to write about another, somewhat related topic.

In these past months, I have been wandering around quite a bit in Budapest, and I also went on quite a few hikes in the area. And frankly, even though I was going on these trips because I knew I will like what I see, still I've been really surprised by the wonderful sights everywhere. Some of the sights I went to see I have never seen before, and they were breathtakingly beautiful. Like the views at Hegyestű:

Since I'm back to Hungary, I've been feeling like a tourist in my own country. Not because I feel out of place, but because I am simply fascinated by everything around me - as if I *was* a tourist. And that's an awesome feeling.

And the weirdest thing is, I've been also exposed to a lot of stuff I *have* already seen before - and even those were mesmerizing to me.  I mean, I've seen a lot of them before, and I knew they were pretty, but they seemed even prettier than I remembered.

I mean look at this lake at Bánk.

Or look at Vajdahunyad vára, a little castle so enchanted that no matter how much I stare at because it's 10 minutes walking away from where I live, I still can't always believe that it's real (ok, yes, I have a thing for enchanted little castles, so I might be biased here).

And yes, maybe all of this is just the after-effect of the homesickness. I will try to reflect on that in more detail when I reminisce about what it feels like to move home after 5.5 years of living abroad.

Either way, point is, that these above experiences have just reaffirmed the hunch that I've been developing over the past couple years:

International travel is overrated.

Don't get me wrong, not all forms of it, I think it's fascinating to travel abroad and I still want to do it - but much more rare, for longer times, and much more consciously. I'm more and more despising 'fast-food-like' tourism: city hopping weekends within Europe with low-cost flights just so we can consume another country/city and its landmarks in a day and spend our night in a sterile hotel room which could be just as well anywhere else in the world, only to then go off in the morning to see one more sight after complaining about the hotel breakfast before getting into a cab that takes us back to the sterile airport where we'll buy some crappy souvenirs while we complain about having to stand in line - all of this while there is *so* much we haven't seen at an arm's length all around us?

I mean, when was the last time you took a sightseeing trip in your own city? Or to a domestic destination? Have you ever looked at that beautiful building at the end of your street or that church in the park near your house? 

Maybe you have done all of these things already, in which case good for you! I myself have some serious catching up to do, and I can't wait to explore more things around me. 

Hungary, here I come! :)

I can hardly believe it, but it's getting close to the 5th anniversary of my move to the Netherlands. It's less than a month away. Incidentally, that also means that I could in fact, according to the current law, apply to be a Dutch citizen as soon as that happens, if I wanted to.

But you know what? I don't think I want to. Foremostly, because the Dutch don't support dual citizenship. So I would have to give up and revoke my Hungarian nationality - and become full on Dutch.

And, yeah, I guess I am simply not prepared to be 100% Dutch.*

Or rather, I am not prepared to cease being Hungarian.

I am not even sure what that would mean, but what I *am* sure of is that I am not prepared to cease speaking Hungarian. I am pretty sure these things aren't equivalent, but they aren't independent notions either. I'm not sure if it's possible to disconnect your native language from your nationality. I don't want to go into political and philosophical debates about this, so let's just stick to the fact that Hungarian is indeed my supposed native language. 

And what is Hungarian anyway? It's this (allegedly) weird language spoken mostly by 10 million (weird?) people in the middle of the Carpathian Basin, surrounded by all kinds of other languages and people which have nothing to do with Hungarian at all. There is kind of this system linguistically across Europe, where all major language families have their little corner, Latins in South-West, Germanics up North, Slavics in the East - and then there is us in the midst of all this. We are literally the odd ones out, an island of 'not-understandableness'. And yes, I know I know, you can find other odd ones out on the map too, but it does seem like we are the only *landlocked* odd one out country - so unlike Albanians or Latvians, we can't just say "f*** these weird neighbours" and sail out onto the sea. 

Btw I love how I managed to find a map on which we are categorized simply as 'Non-Indo European' (but we are Finno-Ugric in case you were wondering).

Anyway, so I explained all of this because I feel like this contributes to the sense of belonging (or lack thereof) that I feel living as an expat. Hungary is this little island floating in Eastern/Central-Europe, and for a Hungarian to leave Hungary is in linguistic terms like jumping off the 'island of familiarity' into the 'sea of the unknown'. Which is super fun, you swim around, you get on a boat and you paddle paddle paddle, and you see and hear a lot of new things, yadda yadda yadda. But after a while paddling is kind of exhausting, and you kind of want to just reach the shore and put your feet down on the ground again and not have to paddle. EVER again. Or at least for a little bit.

To illustrate this sneaky constant effort of 'paddling', I have this recurring example from my everyday life: when I'm really tired, I blurt things out in Hungarian. Involuntarily. The couple first times it happened to me it was quite scary actually, now I'm a bit more used to the phenomenon but it still freaks me out that my brain has a 'power saving mode.' Because that's my best explanation, that my brain just falls back on less consuming tasks when there's sugar shortage, in this case, speaking Hungarian obviously seems to win over English. Despite the fact that I've been speaking English in the past 5 years pretty much day and night. It's just so different from my hard-wired native language that it doesn't seem to be able to overwrite it.

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Disclaimer: all of the above might be total utter nonsense, and there might be other explanations for all the things I'm feeling or saying. Maybe no other Hungarian feels this way EVER, or maybe any expat feels like this every now and then and this has nothing to do with being Hungarian. Quite possible. I don't know. I am just thinking out loud, coming up with my own theories to explain the world around me.

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It's been a while since I posted anything musical. To fix that, here is a recent video of me singing 'Ironic' from Alanis Morissette, with Sebastian playing the guitar. Hope you enjoy it!

A kisgyerekek tudjak a valaszt a mi-leszel-ha-nagy-leszel kerdesre. Te tudsz valaszolni ha megkerdezik, mi is lett beloled ha mar igy nagy vagy?

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Mi leszel ha nagy leszel? Szokták kérdezni a kis gyerekektol. Es a gyerekek ilyen sokszor valoban valaszolnak is, peldaul tuzolto, balerina, allatorvos, esatobbi. Mert valahogy tudjak, hogy mik akarnak lenni.

Aztan hogy ez valoban osszejon-e, az egy teljesen mas kerdes mondjuk, es millio egy dologtol fugg. Ez mindegy is. Ami viszont nem mindegy, az az hogy en, es ezzel nem vagyok egyedul, 27 eves letemre, nemtudom hogy mi leszek ha nagy leszek. Vagy a 27 ev az mar nagynak szamit? Mar lemaradtam a hivatas-megtalalosdi jatekrol? Mar kiosztottak mindet?
De hiszen van Gogh is 27 evesen dontott ugy hogy marpedig o festeni fog. Es lam, 10 even at nem is csinalt mast, csak festett, es vilaghiru festo lett belole.

Akkor megse lehetek annyira lemaradva. Jo persze, abba a hirhedt 27esek klubjaba mar nem fogok tartozni, akik ezen eletkorra mar annyi tehetseget es botranyt halmoztak fel, hogy arra mar csak a sajat halalukkal tudjak feltenni a pontot. Nem fogok a pokolban vagy a mennyorszagban egyutt konyokolni az exkluziv 27esek klubjaban, Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse meg ki tudja meg kinek a tarsasagban.

Szoval ebbe jobb ha beletorodom. De ez a van gogh sztori remenyt ad. Meg nincs minden veszve.

Az am csak a baj, hogy nagyon sokfele dolgot szeretnek csinalni. Illetve, nem is annyira, csak mintha megis. Szeretnek letrehozni valamit. Valami szepet. Valami hasznosat. Valami jot. Legjobb esetben valamit, ami szep, hasznos es jo egyszerre. Vagy mindegyiket kulon-kulon. Vagy ezek barmilyen kombinacioja. A lenyeg, hogy valamit amit masokkal megoszthatok, es ami masok szamara is jo. Vagy szep. Vagy hasznos. Vagy mindegyik. Valami, ami hozzatesz az emberiseghez, es hozzajarul ahhoz hogy a vilag egy picit szebb, jobb vagy erthetobb legyen.

Mindezt barmilyen formaban szivesen tennem. Irasban. Filmben. Zeneben. Kepregenyben. Konyvben. Teveben. Blogon. Website-on. Eloadason. Treningen. Vitaban. Utcan. Irodaban. Varosban. Tengerparton. Ejjel. Nappal.

Szoval a mi-leszek-ha-nagy-leszek kerdesre mar nem tudok valaszt adni, mert azt hiszem mar nagynak szamitok. Viszont ha megis valamilyen formaban valaszolnom kellene erre a kerdesre, ami talan valahogy ugy hangozhatna, hogy amennyiben mar ugyan nem vagy kicsi, de megsem tudod mi akarsz lenni akkor most megis mihez kezdenel meg az eleteddel - es akkor erre nagyjabol annyit tudnek mondani, hogy tulajdonkeppen barhogy, barmikor szivesen tennek valami szepet, jot es hasznosat az emberisegert, a sajat kreativ forrasaimat hasznalva. 

Akar egyedul. De megjobb, ha hasonszoru gondolkodokkal tudnam korbevenni magam. Igazan szeretnek egyuttdolgozni olyanokkal, akik hasonloan szeretnenek tenni a vilagert es az emberekert benne.

No most azt mondja meg nekem valaki, hogy ezt a munkat hogy hivjak? Egyetemes muvesz? Emberisegi ertekellenor? Emberi eletminoseg felelos? Univerzum egyensuly-menedzser?

Es megis ki vesz fel ilyen poziciora embert? Es megis hol lehet ra jelentkezni? Az egyetemen? Az onkormanyzatnal? A kihalo pandak dedikalt bambuszerdei ugyfelszolgalatanal? Az unesconal? Az ENSZnel? Az eszaki sarkon a telaponal?

Es ammenyire ertem a felnott vilagot eddig, a munkaert penzt, vagy valamilyen ellenszolgaltatast szokas kapni. No most egy ilyen munkaert mi jarna, manna? Varazs-paszuly? Fotonok? Husegpontok? Orokelet? Ingyensor?

Aki az altalam kifejtett problemahalmaz barmelyik elemere tudja a valaszt, illetve tud relevans allashirdetest illetve munkaltatot, kerem jelezze egy email kuldesevel a borsincka@gmail.com cimre.

This year I didn't even try getting on a boat for this famous Dutch holiday: the weather forecast showed no reason to look forward to be floating around the canals this time of the year. Allegedly it was going to be stormy, rainy, windy, and around 8 degrees. I can't help it, I simply *have* to insert a Dutch weather meme at this point:

I wasn't as put off by this as you might expect: this was going to be my 5th King's days in this country (well technically only 4th, because the first one was a Queen's day), and due to some magical reason the weather always has cleared up on this day, no matter the meteorologists' predictions. (I'm saying magical reason, but secretly I believe that the Netherlands uses weather-altering technology just for this day.)

I have to say, in the end it was indeed the coldest King's day I have experienced, but it did turn out moderately sunny too. (All hail the royal weather canons!)

The little showers and hail-patches throughout the day also didn't keep me and others from going to an outdoor festival to watch some bands perform - just because of this I've put on my sturdy shoes so that I could jump around in the mud :)

So, below the promised video compilation of how I spent King's day this year. You might recognize the sunglasses and tiara from my post 2 years ago - I've been 'recycling' the orange accessories every year :) The only sad news is that my tiara broke in half this year, so I'll have to get some new fancy gear for next time ;) 

To go outside or to not go outside?..

That's the dilemma you're faced with while sitting at home on the weekend staring out the window when you live in the Netherlands.

And no, the Dutch spring isn't very helpful in answering that question. In fact, it's been really crazy recently - well, I guess just as crazy as usual. 

See for yourself in this timelapse video I made from my balcony, capturing a pretty broad spectrum of weather conditions within one 'lovely' spring day in Amsterdam (April 24, 2016).

Fingers crossed that it clears out for King's Day this week!!!

This evening, I was watching tv. You know, unwinding at the end of the day.

I got up to do something and while doing so, I suddenly burst into singing ‘Mad world’ from Gary Jules.

That’s not a big surprise. I’ve always loved this song and sing it from time to time.

As I was walking around looking for something, I noticed that my voice echoed through the hallway of the empty apartement. I slowed my steps down, and at one point I just stopped the walking overall and I was paying attention to nothing but my singing, my voice filling the air around me.

‘And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad

The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had

I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take

When people run in circles it’s a very very..’

Once I was done, I started over again. I was paying attention only to the words and the sounds that I was making.

‘And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad

The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had’

I started to sing slower, because the more I was paying attention to the words, the more I started choking with tears.

‘I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take’

Tears ran down my cheeks.

‘When people run in circles it’s a very very..’

I put my hands on my face to cover my eyes, and silently wept.

‘Mad world.’

I whispered it into my hands. ‘Mad world’.

At this point I thought I’m probably mad myself. I was alone with my voice, and yet haunted by millions of my thoughts.

I felt like suddenly I could feel all the pain in the world. Or I was so empty that it hurt.

I couldn’t tell.

I felt like life is so heavy that I can’t take it. Or that it is so light that I might just float away.

I couldn’t tell.

I felt like everything matters so much that there’s no way we won’t screw up stuff. Or that everything matters so little that none of it makes a difference.

I couldn’t tell.

I felt like this song means so much. Or it means nothing and we all just hear whatever we want to hear.

I couldn’t tell.

I felt like I can and want to do it all. Or that I accepted that I won’t be able to do any of it.

I couldn't tell.

I felt like I understand everything. Or that I have just accepted that I don’t understand anything.

I couldn't tell.

I sat down. I wanted to share it. With everyone.

Share what? With whom?

The feeling. I wanted to write it down. To sing it. To dance it. To yell it out.

To somehow save it.

How do you save a feeling?

Can you save a feeling in a blogpost?

Back in 2012, it took me about 6 months and 2 painful moves to find the right place for me to stay in Amsterdam. I've been living in that apartment for almost 2.5 years by now, happily ever after, up until the landlord announced that he sold the place and we need to get out.

Sigh.

And so I was back to the moving-drawing-board.

Luckily, first place I viewed seemed so perfect, that I immediately agreed to take it. 
Phew! That was easy.

I thought I was done with the most difficult part. Little did I know, that it's the actual moving that is going to be my fall this time.

Chapter 1.

Pre-arrangements

My thinking during my previous moves in the Netherlands was 'oh no worries, I don't have too much stuff, so me and my friends can carry some boxes and some small planks of wood up and down these insanely narrow and steep Dutch staircases without dying'. However, this time, I had actual pieces of massive furniture, including a 4 person couch, needing to be carried downstairs from the 4th floor, from a house somewhat similar to this:

Admittedly, I was even hoping that the couch won't fit through the staircase and door, in which case we would need to do the very very Dutch thing of 'takelen met touw en blok.' Ever wondered what those scary hooks were for on the facades of these Dutch houses?

Well, you basically just put up a wheel and a rope on these hooks, then tie your things onto the rope and then just let your things float down through your window onto the street. Probably the only really Dutch thing I had yet to experience. So I figured, I should do the appropriate thing for the situation and hire professional movers. 

So I did.

Chapter 2.

The missing ropes

They day has finally come, and the movers from StudentVerhuizers arrived as agreed 3.30pm.

After inspecting the situation, they started with the couch. Couch made it down one floor, but got stuck in the second staircase turn - as expected (and secretly hoped by me :) ). Conclusion: couch needs to go out the window. Wohoo! Unfortunately, my joy didn't last very long - turns out the movers didn't bring the touw en blok.

I was quite agitated and disappointed, as I had mentioned to them on the phone that we might be needing those ropes. Then again, I did have that conversation in Dutch, and even though at this point my Dutch is okay for handling appointments and some issues, I'm not well-versed in the jargon of moving appliances and tools. I'm sure I had said something along the lines of 'couch maybe go through window', and getting questions about 'hijsbalk' and 'haak' which I understand are words relating to the hook on my roof. To which I verbally nodded, as I know that those are reachable from my apartment, so I thought we were all on the same page and set for the task.

Anyhow, so not sure where the misunderstanding came from, but so the movers said they will go get the ropes and whatever is needed, and will be back in about 15-20 minutes. Okay, slightly annoying, but oh well, I guess ok.

After about 40 minutes of not being able to do anything and just waiting, they arrived, only to tell me: we don't have the thing.

Ehm, what? I seriously could not comprehend what they mean. What the what???

Yeah yeah, because 'something something the store didn't have it, and we can move everything else today, and move couch tomorrow'. Ha. Haha. I thought they are joking.

At this point, we are already more than an hour into our moving appointment, and the only thing that has been moved was half of the couch, one floor down. Not a very good ratio. I am starting to get really pissed with this company.

And the 'best' parts are yet to come.

Chapter 3.

Ropes still missing

So we are looking for solutions. One solution that they are trying to explain to me in half-Dutch, half-English, is that I would need to go with them by car to a shop closeby to rent out the depicted touw en blok, on my own cost, and then return it myself the next day.

I'm just blinking in perplex... Excuse me? You are trying to get me to pay unforeseen extra charges and have additional inconveniences for your problem? What the hell is happening???

I thought I was already angry and confused, but it got worse. As it turns out, just before the 2 movers have just gone all the way to this alleged closeby shop which is about 12 kms from my house, only to realise that well they can't rent that thing out because they would need to bring it back the next day, and they are not going to be in Amsterdam so that's not good for them. So instead of calling me while being in the shop, and telling me this, and maybe trying to arrange some solution for this, they decided to come back empty-handed to my doorstep, having wasted 40 minutes of my life, only to tell me that the best solution they were able to figure is that we go do the same 40 minute round with me so that I can pay extra and suffer extra, solely because of their incredibly incompetent problem-solving.

Okay. Breath in, breath out.

Let's not make business with these people, shall we?

I decide to call another moving company, who - unbelievably - seem to *have* the touw en blok and incredibly are still available for an appointment on the same day. So I turn to the gentlemen and say, 'Sorry, this isn't really working out with you, so I'd like to cancel this service, bye.'

Chapter 4.

Call the police!

It was naive of me to think I could get rid of them that easy. As soon as the word 'cancel' comes out of my mouth, the 2 gentlemen take a defensive pose and ask for '95 euros cancellation fee'. Oh, haha! Wonderful! I am having a hard time taking them seriously so I say 'I'm not going to pay for you  not being able to carry out the job I hired you for', to which their seemingly well-rehearsed response is to plant themselves onto my windowsill and repeat like parrots over and over how they refuse to leave until I pay. This is where to me, this really became more of a comedy-drama, than an actual business negotiation.

'You do whatever, but I won't pay'.

'Then we call police.'

Okay, hold on a sec. Am I actually being threatened by movers who failed to do the task I hired them for out of their own fault? That's a first. After friends confirm that I can't go to jail for this (need a reality check when hotheaded), I respond 'Okay.'

Seemingly, they get confused. They were not expecting that this threat would not work. So they call their boss, and force me to listen to his threats:

'Madame, if you cancel now, you need to pay 95 euros!!! Don't be difficult, it's in the contract.. don't make us trouble, we will call police, you don't want trouble, pay 95 euros...'

Great exercise in improving my assertiveness! I'm keeping my ground: 'no I won't pay, all of this is your fault, not mine.'

In the meantime I realise the absurdity of the situation: I'm in this apartment full of boxes, with a taken apart couch lying across several rooms and 2 movers refusing to leave, shoving phones at my ear from where a very angry man is yelling at me to give them money. Wow. And I thought hiring movers is going to make my move easier.

The tension rises, and the ridiculous back and forth blaming and threatening goes on for almost an hour, up until they really realise that I really am making an appointment with another company. Eventually they take me seriously and offer to do the thing they should have done back an hour or two ago: they say they'll rent the touw en blok themselves on their own cost and do the move with it now. Really. Promise. Awww, that's so nice of them, isn't it? That of course would still mean they have to do again that 40 minute car-ride before they can start. Ha. Haha. No thank you. At this point I really have no faith and trust in the problemsolving skills of these movers and have lost all respect towards their unprofessional way of handling the whole case.

After hearing that I have confirmed the other company, and repeatedly refusing to pay, they slowly give up and leave.

It's 6pm, and still the only thing that has been moved is half a couch, one floor down. This is going to be a looooong night....

Chapter 5.

The couch finally flies

It's 7.30pm, and the movers from Verhuis Goedkoop arrive. Not sure what to expect after the incidents of today. But, I can say it's a good start, watching them fling themselves up the several flights of stairs as if they just had 5 coffees, and getting down to work straight away. With impressive speed things are being carried down, while the couch is being wrapped for the flying. They know what they are doing and I know, we're in good hands now.

And indeed, soon enough, the couch finally gets its wings and finally does the bunjee jump it's been waiting for the whole day:

(Disclaimer: no couches have been harmed in the making of this video)

Now that's how you do 'takelen met touw en blok.'

Even though at this point the main work, namely the actual moving, is still ahead of us, I'm simply so relieved of having the professional help and service I needed, that I'm happily helping along. 

Carrying boxes down, running up, down, up down....

---------------

By 11.30pm, we're finally done. Everything is in its place. Now I can finally go to sleep.

While going to bed, I'm wondering if the first company will attempt to sue me.. That would be another first!

Special thanks to Shakil and Mike for taking on our last minute moving request and carrying it out so flawlessly. They have truly saved the day - and the couch!

Another Old/New Year's Eve in Holland, another war zone experience! This time in Amsterdam. Survived, from the safety of my roofterrace.

I am still amazed by the quantity of fireworks this country 'consumes', despite the fact that I have already written a blogpost about this 3 years ago. It's almost as if they are trying to wipe out the past year by blowing up everything that's flammable.

I owe special thanks to the neighbours all around the block, who provided us with a pretty awesome free show! 

I have made some gifs to document it:

I even attempted to make a few with me in it, hoping that nothing would blow up in my back:

And the neighbours just KEPT going:

Gifs are not expressive enough to share the war-like feeling of the city exploding all across the horizon, so for that I have a video:

Happy New Year y'all!

It has finally happened, I've been to New York! Only took me 26 years to get there. And it only took me 2 months to get around to write a blogpost about it. Yaaaay!

Despite the fact that I have been mistaken to be American dozens of times in the past years due to my accent, my visit to New York this September was actually my very first time in the U.S.A. (One of the most memorable mistakings was when an old Dutch street musician guy started screaming 'GO HOME YANKEE!' at me a few months back...)

Aaaanyway, in the 10 days that I spent over there on that side of the Atlantic Ocean, I took a good look and came up with a list of things I really loved about the place and a lot of stuff that seemed really weird from a European point of view. Apparently writing lists like this is kind of my thing, I've done it before about the Netherlands and in connection with my thesis, so I am keeping up the successful format!

Things I loved about New York

People are sooo friendly.

People are so damn friendly, it's almost creepy.

You cannot get from A to B without engaging in random conversations with strangers.

This was literally one of the first things that hit me after having landed. I just arrived to the City from the airport, trying to enter the subway, but my luggage doesn't fit through the turnstile. I am in panic, trying insane yoga movements, bending in all directions, trying to push myself through along with my own suitcase, to no avail. A man who passes through the turnstile next to me, notices my struggle and without hesitation turns to me and starts helping. He is basically asking me to start lifting my bag so that he can take it and put it down on the other side. At this point, as a good Eastern European, I panic even more, thinking:

'Oh my god, why is he so nice, I'm sure he's trying to rob me, and why am I helping him, he is too nice I would feel bad to say no, oh my god, I'm the lamest tourist ever, getting my bag stolen in the first hour of being here... OH MY GOD MY SUITCASE IS IN HIS HANDS AND I'M ON THE OTHER SIDE HE'S SO GONNA RUN AWAY WITH IT - OH MY GOD.... oh wait, he is still there, he actually just put my suitcase down and is waiting for me, and he is handing to me, he is smiling, says 'Good luck' and goes on to his own business. OH MY GOD A RANDOM STRANGER WAS JUST GENUINELY NICE TO ME WHILE HE COULD HAVE JUST ROBBED ME. WHAT IS UP WITH THIS PLACE.'

I have experienced several of these encounters in and around the subways - seems like a good place for people to connect. Like this other time when I just got off the subway and was running towards the Museum of Natural History to meet my sister. It was slightly raining, so I wam running around like a crazy tourist, trying to find the quickest way to the entrance - when suddenly a big rastafari black guy grabs my hand and pulls me under his umbrella to protect me from the rain, asking if he can accompany me with his umbrella. I was so surprised - and again, of course scared in the first moment, that I wasn't sure what to say, but eventually he helped me find the entrance, saved me from the rain and wished me a nice day. I was baffled.

What do people in New York take/smoke/inhale/eat that makes them be constantly and so effortlessly nice to strangers? I have no idea, but I loved every moment of it.

Skyscrapers!

I simply LOVED the skyscrapers. They are tall, stunning and amazing. Purely awesome. Love the big city vibe of it. No more words needed, let's have the pictures talk instead:

One dollar pizza

Cheap and delish! After Amsterdam's tiny pizza slices that can cost 4 euro, shoving greasy yet tasty, decently sized pizza slices in my face for 1 dollar felt like the best deal ever.

Central Park

I always thought Central Park is just a huge block of a flat field with grass and a few trees, and maybe a lake. Whereas actually it is super hilly and much more forest-like than I have imagined. A real piece of nature!

Brooklyn

I had no idea that Brooklyn is THE place to be. I actually thought it's a more shady area where I will just get lost.. And yet, the apartment I stayed in along with my sister and some other Hungarians was in a super quiet and friendly area. Felt almost a bit like Amsterdam to be honest. And apparently the majority of good nightlife is also in Brooklyn - NOT in Manhattan. Good lesson there! Went out looking for a party in Manhattan and ended up taking a cab back to Brooklyn to catch some good event. Last but not least, that area is not full of tourist crowds. After having stayed 2 days at Times Square I was really really craving to go back to Brooklyn.

Things that are weird about New York

(at least for me)

Subway Frenzy

New York is famous for it's subway system - it carries god knows how many millions of people each month. That is why it's specifically shocking that they have no indication whatsoever on when the last subway left and when the next would come. No signs. No announcements. Waiting on the platform of the NYC subway is the essence of inertia and uncertainty.

If only one of the biggest subway networks in the world could have some kind of a magical system that could share travel information and updates with passengers.. If only there was a way.. Maybe some digital boards and signs.. like in EVERY OTHER NORMAL CITY THAT HAS SUBWAYS. 

That being said, in this sense the subway network SUCKS. You can spend hours there, or minutes - all up to the mysterious ways of the Subway God.

On the other hand, this might be the cause of not only the blooming art-sphere here in the underground, where there's always an audience, but also could be the reason for people being so friendly and connecting whilst traveling. It might be the way how New Yorkers meditate - being friendly might be just a way of coping with the stress of not being able to count on getting anywhere on time anyway, so you  might as well just make the most out of your time.

Strange customs

Smoking

So apparently the U.S., or at least New York, managed to actually make smoking 'not cool'. It's basically banned from any normal place where Europeans would love to just pop a cigarette: indoor bars, outdoor bars (!) and public parks (!!!!). Apparently, smoking in the U.S., or at least in New York, is really not cool, and smokers live a dangerous and risky life off the beaten track, where they have to avoid any socially acceptable public spaces. Well done America! I envy you for this, as I grew up in an environment where it was super easy to get cigarettes as minors, and was also 'super cool' to smoke as a teenager - and I'm more than sure that my hometown, Budapest, is not the only European city where all the cool kids at school smoke. 

Signs and rules

Every now and then I would bump into these signs and habits that would perplex me. Everytime I saw 'No parking anytime', I thought it was strange. It might just be that my brain is wired differently but I always had to think what this means. I would say 'No parking ever' or simply 'No parking'. Hm. No parking anytime. No parking anytime. Still sounds weird.

Or the other time when I was at a party and there was a flyer saying that I am not allowed to use my phone on the dancefloor. No texting, no facebooking, no picture taking. Dance floor is for DANCING only. I was shocked at first, but I have to say, it's one of the best strict rules ever. Screw all those anti-social boring people who keep checking their messages and keep talking to people somewhere far away instead of engaging with the people and the music around them. 

Throwaway everything

Everything seems to be wrapped in plastic. Everything can be thrown away. Anything you purchase is for one time use. E-ve-ry-thing. Breakfast was served with PLASTIC plates, cups and cutlery in the 3 star hotel I stayed in in Downtown Manhattan. WTF.

Money money money

Credit cards

Issues with money and payments were haunting me throughout my whole trip. Started with the creepy moment of trying to buy a subway ticket with my credit card (as my Dutch debit card was not accepted) and I WAS NOT ASKED FOR MY PIN. WTF. From that moment on I was slightly paranoid. I in general never really use my credit card (unless inevitable, on some webstes), so I felt totally uncomfortable about the whole thing. How much money is on it? How do I know how much is left? I don't like the whole concept.

Weird cash

Anyway, to ease my worries, I got myself some cash. It was all fine until I started getting back change. So there is this country, one of the leading economies in the world, and they produce money that is absolutely impossible to differentiate and use. They print 1 dollar onto a bill - an amount for which not even Hungary prints a bill. One U.S. dollar is currently the equivalent of 245 HUF, and the smallest bill we have is 500 HUF, so 2 USD. It might just be me, but for me, that's a really weird scale. And it only gets worse: after the dollar, the next one seems to be the quarter. I've heard they have half dollar coins, but I have not seen one throughout my whole stay. And then there are smaller amounts too, and if you think they are gonna have the amount printed on the them in numbers, you are wrong. The amount is written in tiiiiiny letters around the edge - no chances to read it if you are not a local. And if at this point you think you could guess by the shape, size or the weight which one is which, well think again, because none of these measures are linear with their worth. It was hopeless for me to get a hold on this, so I ended up just pouring the contents of my purse onto the counter, and asking the shopkeepers and bartenders to help themselves.

Tipping

The other related topic that kept freaking me out was the mandatory tipping. One dollar PER DRINK. I basically had to pay the (one-dollar-pizza-)dinner of every bartender I got a drink from. Very, very strange system. I am not a huge fan of tipping in any circumstance, although I do tip when I think the service deserves it, but as an obligation, per item.. Weird. Not to mention, when you're not paying with cash, but say, a credit card. I was about to pay for my dinner in a restaurant when I was first faced with this challenge, and well, it took several minutes for the waiter to make me understand, that yes, he will first take the money from my card, then hand me back my card and then I have to give in writing (!) the tip amount, and then he'll just charge that on the digital imprint of my card because he still has it on the system. And I am supposed to keep the paper receipt with my written tip on it, so that if they charge something else, I can complaing. What a messed up terrible system.

Famous tourist attractions

New York is famous for many things, like for example for its skyline. In fact, it's so famous, that once you actually see it in real life, it's like you've seen it already. It's almost like it's not that big of a deal - even though it is! It's amazing! But, it just looks so familiar, that it's almost scary. I have consumed so much American media content, have seen so many images of the city, that some of the bigger sights were actually confusing. While on my helicopter tour around Manhattan, I actually felt like I was just watching the trailer of a movie.

Similar experience in connection with the Statue of Liberty. It was amazing to see it, finally in real life - could hardly believe that I was there. Yet, I was actually disappointed about some features of it: I thought it was bigger. I thought you could go up to the crown... etc. And my sincere apologies, but I never realized how ugly the lady actually looks from close-up (sorry!).

So, these are more or less the main points of my experience in New York. It was awesome. I will definitely go back - to visit for sure, but maybe even to stay for a while.. We'll see :)

Big thanks to the pretty photos of me to my photographer sister!

Last, but not least, an encore - I would like to close with the story of my last few moments at Newark airport before getting on the airplane. I keep complaining how small Amsterdam is, which was partially the reason for me to be so excited about going to a Big City. Well, apparently it's not just Amsterdam, but the World that's kinda small. While I was sitting there, waiting for boarding, contemplating the details of my trip, I started browsing Facebook. I saw a post from Flea, bassist of my all-time favorite band, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, which was titled 'my trip to New York'. Apparently, he had just been to New York the day before. Ok, so the bassist of my favorite American band happened to be in New York the same time as me, big shocker. But then I saw his other post, and it turns out he performed the night before in the little alternative and awesome club where I was thinking to go to together with a friend - but then the night took a different turn and we didn't go. Unfortunately. I was really really really really bummed out, as it is on my bucket list to meet these guys (I've seen them live at huge venues but that's not the same). Chances are, you are not going to run into one of the members of your favorite band upon first visit of their country, right? And even though I did NOT end up running into him, I had to turn the story around in order to stop being bummed out and start thinking this way: what are the chances of ALMOST bumping into him?? Also super super unlikely, and yet it happened. Apparently, the world is not that big after all... Thus, it's not impossible that it will happen again. Maybe even without the almost. I will need to go back to find out :)

Ladies and gentlemen, we finally did it! Me and my band have officially performed at the Multiculturele Markt in Enschede last weekend!

If questions like 'What?' 'Who?' 'Where?' and 'Why?' race through your mind right now, let me give you a bit of context here.

My dear guitarist friend, Gabor and I have been playing music for a while together now and have had some smaller performances. Then this amazing opportunity came along, to play at this festival called Multiculturele Markt, which takes places in Enschede, close to the German border. So Gabor and I came up with the amazing GaBori band name and signed up. We were scheduled to play 3 times 15 minutes (yes, 3 times 15 minutes) spread across the last weekend of July.

Since this is a big event, spanning across the city center of Enschede for several days, with several 10.000s of visitors, we wanted to go big for this gig. So we decided to spice our duo up a bit, and hence we imported an American bass player, Tom, along with a Hungarian djembe drummer, all the way from Germany. And voila, the official and unique Gabori band performance was born! 

I have to admit, was somewhat intimidating and bizarre to perform right after bollywood dancers, and right before bellydancers - I felt like my outfit and moves might not really compete with this line-up, but we tried to make up for it by bringing various sounds of (mostly) Hungarian songs. We enjoyed it a lot, and we hope you will too! :) 

The (non-Hungarian) highlights include our cover version of Chris Isaac's Wicked game:

Our jazzy-blues hit, 'Akarok egy not' from Tereskova, complete with children-friendly lyrics for the full family experience along with me overcompensating the dancelessness nature of our act by swaying around: 

One of my personal favorites is 'Too early' from Hungarian jazz singer & songwriter, Harcsa Veronika: 

And since we wanted to bring a wide variety of Hungarian popular music, there was no way of not including an ultimate alternative rock song, 'Disznok tanca' from Kispal es a Borz - this was also featured on the website of the festival itself. 

Ladies and gents, thank you so much for reading and listening! We are looking forward to our next musical opportunities, thus stay tuned! :)

Special thanks to Diana & Otilia for the recordings! 

Every now and then, people I meet here, or people back home will ask me: 'So, do you like living in Amsterdam?'
I would take a deep breath and say: 'I do, but...' - and then in my head the struggle starts, trying to explain what I find strange about this place.

Because I have to say, there is something that makes me feel bittersweet about living in Amsterdam as an expat for 1.5 years now (and almost 3 years living in the Netherlands).

It is easy to list the things that are great here. The canals, the bike paths, the people, the night-life... But I always end up feeling the need to balance this out with the 'but' part. I dedicate this post to explaining this.

Amsterdam has a vibrant flow of expats (like me), which means that basically there are a lot of people here coming and going. Some people come here to find something. Themselves, someone else, or something they have lost. Others come here to lose something, to leave something behind - I have seen it all. No matter which of these is the case, the mindset with which people come here is incredible. Motivated, enthusiastic, open to new challenges and experiences. This is the beauty of this place: you can meet here the most interesting, smart and open-minded people from all around the world, and share opinions, views and thoughts you would have otherwise probably never been able to experience.

Not only can you meet people, but since all of these expats are in this euphoric state of looking for new things and being open, there is a lot of opportunity to actually experience and share moments together while facing these challanges together.

This makes you feel alive and connect with people.

You make great friends.

You fall in love.

You enjoy life.

This is all great, and there is no reason to complain, really.

Honestly. It's great. It's like a huge Erasmus exchange program for adults (even though I never attended one, but this is how I imagine it).

However, the point will come, when one of your newly made great friends decides to leave the country.

You go to the goodbye party, you have a great time, you drink, you swear to keep in touch.

Few months later, the second friend leaves.

And then, the third friend.

And then, your love decides to leave too.

Not because of you - they all leave because of themselves.

And then you slowly realize, that expats have one main thing in common: this is not their home. Which reads as: this is their temporary setting. Due to this, they share another trait: their stay here has a purpose, something they need to fulfill before they can 'move on'. They are not here to live their entire lives here. Even if they don't know it, they are all looking for something subconsciously. They are in a phase. A passing phase, that will end.

Slowly you realize, that all of these people that you have connected here with, have their own little paths in life, with which you happened to cross for a little while, but they must go on in their direction. Which will not necessarily coincide with your direction. They often decide to go home, or take a job opportunity, or follow a love to far far away - I again, have seen it all happen.

And you stay behind.

And for every person that leaves, you meet 5 new ones...

And for every heartbreak you experience, you break 3 hearts / have 5 one night stands, etc., have your pick.

So the cycle continutes.

Which gets you thinking: so how long am I supposed to stay here? Have I already found what I wanted? Did I already fulfill my purpose? What was my purpose in the first place? Have I found my new best friend / the love of my love / the job of my dreams? Or do I at least now know where to go to find them? Did I manage to leave the past behind and build up a new life here? Am I ready to move on now too? What am I waiting for?

And so slowly.... you realize that the majority of the people/things/thoughts of your expat life here in Amsterdam are temporary.

That's where the bittersweetness kicks in.

Especially the part about heartbreaks, because it kinda makes you think that this phase that expats are in is not ideal for finding true love and long-term commitment, because who knows when you will leave, or the person you love decides to leave.. and you most probably have things to figure out for yourself anyway too, right? So you wonder whether you should just put your love-life on hold while you are here.

The good news however is, that since there are so many people looking for something, it is quite possible that someone else is looking for the same thing, so you might end up inspiring / finding each other :)

So, yes. Everything and everybody is coming and going - and you are just one tiny piece in this huge flow, trying to find your way through too. And one day, you will most probably also leave, because you have either found / lost / realized something, that makes you see life in a different way, and allows you now to take the next step towards your inner peace, towards your final destination. Maybe your true love, maybe your dream job, or anything else that gives your life meaning.

Until then however, I guess there's only one thing to do:

ENJOY THIS BITTERSWEET RIDE! :)

p.s.: It is highly likely that this experience I am describing is actually not unique to Amsterdam, but is a broader phenomenon of similar 'expatropolitan' cities (a word I just made up to describe a metropolis with a high percentage of expats). Or in fact maybe of living in any city as an expat... Well, so far I have only experienced Amsterdam, but who knows, maybe my next station will be again another expatropolis, and then I can compare.... *bittersweet smile*

I set out with only one goal for this year's King's Day (previously Queen's Day): I want to spend it on a boat. That was my only mission for April 26, 2014.

In the past years I've been strolling through the city (Amsterdam and Utrecht) on this day, which is a great but fairly exhausting experience due to the massive amount of drunk people, their children and the stuff that people try to sell to you. So I thought, for a change, I would like to observe this from the safe distance of a boat, floating innocently in the canals, where the only threat is falling into the water, pirates, and being peed on by drunk guys from passing by boats. And to get stuck due to heavy boat traffic under a bridge - which is still not that bad if you have some food, booze, music, and you are stuck with nice people around you. Even if it does get a bit crowded as the following illustration shows:

As a first attempt to achieve this boat-dream, I signed up for a boat-ride that friends-of-friends organized. Honestly, I thought this is the first and last attempt in the sense that what could go wrong with booking a boat? Well, apparently quite some stuff, like the booked boat NOT SHOWING UP. Captain's phone was not reachable. And since it was organized by friends of friends, I didn't even know much about the whole thing, and was just faced with this 1-hour waiting for nothing, where I slowly learned about the pieces of the story only to conclude that they most likely fell for a scam, ruining my boat-mission.

So what do you do when you book a boat for king's day and it never shows up? You START DRINKING. We waited from 3pm until 4pm, then gave up and went strolling into the city. Luckily we found a nice stage with music close enough, had infinite reserves of delicious palinka with us, so we quickly started drinking and dancing our boat-sorrow away.

Few hours pass, we almost forgot the boat-shaped hole in our hearts when I receive a message from a colleague-friend, saying that they are about to go on a little tour with their boat, and whether I wanna join.

DO I???

I could barely believe that I actually got a second chance to get onto a boat on King's day, and I'm thinking to myself: WHOOOOPPIEEEE, we just have to make sure that we don't screw this one up. So I grab my friend Tom from the misty alcohol smelling stage and we start going fast-paced to the discussed location. I am worried that we will be late, and we are also not exactly sober, so we just run and curse across the city, getting closer and closer to finally be on a boat.

Just before arriving at the discussed time and location, I receive another message that boatride is cancelled due to technical difficulties - plastic bag on motor. I'm starting to think this is a joke. Our spirits are still not broken though, at this point we'd do ANYTHING to get on a boat. So Tom and I just decide to stay at a little dock-area on the Amstel, and put our friendly smiles on and start convincing random passing-by party-boats that it would be a great idea if we could join their party. They smile, but in the end they say no. I'm starting to think we should just hop on, I mean, what could possibly go wrong with that, right?

In that moment, a Dutch guy next to me proves me what can go wrong. He jumps onto a boat, uninvited. The DeeJay - who is the Almighty on that boat and had already shook his head from side-to-side on our kind request - gives a look to another guy on the boat, who immediately starts elbowing his way through towards the intruder. As soon as he gets a hold of the stranger, he pushes him with both hands out of the boat - he lands with half his body on the wooden panels of the dock, half his body between the boat and the water. The 'bouncer' guy is not done with him: he jumps onto him and starts pushing him as far as he can away from the boat. They kinda stand up, and then start fighting: they fall over, and a whole crowd starts jumping onto them from both sides to pull them apart. This goes on for a few minutes, then the 'bouncer' victoriously crawls back among 'his' people and the boat takes off, while a few of the passengers actually stay on the shore and nurse the intruder guy who's bleeding from his elbows from his fall.

Tom and I look at each other and conclude, we should probably NOT hop onto a random boat.

Unfortunately, at this point it's 8pm, and boating-time is over - no more shifts, no more parties. And this is how I didn't get onto a boat on King's Day.

I did promise a happy end though, which is the fact just today, 2 days after King's Day, I actually did have a proper boatride, cruising along the canals of Amsterdam.

Thank you Captain Jonathan! :)

...or the hardships of having a Hungarian name as an expat

Having lived now for more than 2 years in the Netherlands, I feel like I have dealt well with to the struggles of living abroad. I can proudly say that I have pretty much acclimated to the necessary degree to living in the Netherlands: I have an Albert Heijn bonus card, I sometimes eat bitterballen, and I am even able to do my tax declaration in Dutch.

However, there is one thing that until this day causes me a headache, and seems impossible to solve. Despite all of the above listed fabulous achievements, I still do not know how to introduce myself.

Let's see why this is such a difficult task. 

I come from Hungary, and have a not extremely common, but quite typical Hungarian name, which is Borbála. It's the Hungarian version of the internationally known name, Barbara.

It is important to mention though that literally no-one calls me by my full first name. Everyone knows me as Bori - the nickname that I believe all Borbálas of Hungary prefer over their full name. Even famous singers and protagonists of children's books wear this name, that's how much it is common to use it:

At the same time, introducing yourself with your nickname might seem strange and unprofessional in cultures where they don't know the concept. So I was somewhat torn in how to introduce myself at work, outside work, or in general when meeting non-Hungarians - resulting in somewhat of an identity crisis.

I have been somewhat fascinated by this newly found struggle, as I have never encountered it before and would have never thought it to be such a problem.
I believe the difficulty about understanding/decoding/reproducing/remembering both versions of my name for foreigners come on several different layers, which I have tried to sum up in the following table. For each section I gave a score ranging from 1-5, to signify the level of difficulty I believe foreigners have.

So, having reached a stunning 20 out of the maximal 25, I believe we can conclude, that this is not the best name to establish a life as an expat.

So let's see how my nickname does on the same topics:

As you can see, it's almost a tie: Bori beats Borbála with 3 difficultiness levels. Considering the fact that my preference is 'Bori', my policy ended up being the following: usually I start out by saying my full first name, and then add that I prefer to be called Bori. As you can imagine, this does not make the process of introducing myself any easier...

Let's see some real life examples of what inspired me to write this article.

(Disclaimer: these are real example cases of people who have misspelled/misinterpreted/abused my name. Please do not feel ashamed if you recognize to be the participant of one of the examples, I do not consider any of these incidents offensive. On the contrary, it inspired me to write this article, and hopefully cause amusement to readers.)

1. Mystical typos

Just to be clear, I do not expect anyone to be able to spell my name correctly after hearing it. However, I cannot for the love of god figure out, how someone can misspell my name in an email reply, where before I have put my name properly in the signature. How did I become Barbolada?

I have also been addressed as Barbogola, Borbola, Borbla, etc. As if people go like 'oh that's an easy one, I don't need to copy+paste that'. Well guess what, yes you do, you moron.

2. New nicknames

In my previous company, the guys just gave up and started calling me B. Like the letter B.

Honestly, I like nicknames, because they are usually more personal than your formal name, but when the name is given only because your name is too complicated.. that has never happened to me before.

3. The wrong Bori

One of my favorites incidents was the below email thread, where it was accidentally a colleague called 'Borislav' who was autocompleted from the mail client first, and the mail got forwarded to me only after that:

4. Mistaken to be a guy

On my birthday, I sent an email around in the office that I have brought in some sweets. A colleague popped by and was asking where the birthday-boy sits. When I said it was me, I didn't know who felt more embarrased ::)

Yeah, so these are pretty much the highlights of my name-struggle in the Netherlands. Throughout, I also realized how much my name is my identity, and how weird of a feeling it is, having to think about how to construct my identity based on how I can ease the process of people calling my name and knowing who I am..

Conclusion - tips and tricks for future expat kids to survive

So, to conclude, I summarized some advice for future parents of expat kids: as the name of a person is going to be the first point of contact in any type of communication, the name of children who are going to be in international an environments should be chosen wisely and adhere to the following:

1. constitues of letters of the English alphabet
   1. translate Cyrillic and other alphabets into an English version
   2. not even accents and dots 
2. is pronouncable at least for people who speak Englishis not long, i.e. 2-3 syllables long
   1. at least 1 vowel and at least 1 consonant
   2. can be related to, i.e. has equivalents in other languages
3. is catchy, or has a catchy nickname to it

...and so on. These are the most important I could think of that will avoid this refraing becoming your child's anthem:

And for all my expat friends and colleauges, please keep trying to repeat:

http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/Borb%C3%A1la

:)

And voila, one of the biggest 'ups' of my expat-life has happened just last week.

Recipe:

1. take some musical colleagues and put them together 
2. let them ripe for a few days
3. put them on stage on the last Friday of the month
4. add about 30-50 more colleagues around them (can be more, depending on the available space)
5. stir everything around with a bit of alcohol

...and let the magic happen!

Thanks for everyone who was there and felt the love, especially from 5:25!

Special thanks to Herman for the recording!

My sincere apologies to everyone for having skipped such a huge amount of time since my last blogpost. Fortunately, I have a set of awesome arguments why I had no time to document and share my breathtaking life.

Basically what has happened is that I have gone through all the big steps of becoming a proper working expat in Holland. Expat, meaning expatriot - this is the official term for all these immigrants like me, don't ask me why, I don't know, but that's the bucket I am put in.

1. Finding a Job

First of all, I had been on a serious job hunt last summer. I think I attended like 15 job interviews, for only like 5 positions or so. Every damn job has 3 rounds of interviews! For any job, including customer service agents for crying out loud. So it is a tough process. In the end, I got hired by Booking.com, and started working as a Website Quality Specialist from October 1, 2012 where I work until this day, and I love it. I am really not complaining about this section, because in the end, just after 2 months of having graduated from my master, I already got an awesome job. (pat on the back)

2. Finding a Place to Live

Since Booking.com is located in Amsterdam, and back then I was living in Utrecht, I decided to move.

Let me tell you, looking for rooms in Amsterdam is not the most desirable way to spend your time, especially when you have just started your new job. Kamernet.nl, a room-renting website was of great help here, but honestly, the website is a pain in the ass. As a Website Quality Specialist, I would have some serious remarks on the usability of that site. Add to that, that of course it is not for free, there is a subscription fee involved, which makes it even more a pain in the ass. I seriously recommend to simultaneously also use Facebook groups like Amsterdam Apartments, where the platform is not specifically designed for this kind of interaction, but at least the functions and features work as expected.

Either way, I found myself a temporary place to stay, until I could find a place for long-term. So I just moved, packed all my life from Utrecht, stuffed it into the car of a friend (thank you Attila!), put it down in Amsterdam, and started looking already for a new place. I have been to about 5 proper Dutch kijkavonds, which means that the hosts actually invite all potential new roomies at the same time. First I thought it was a mistake when people kept arriving when I was there checking out the flat. But no, they actually made us sit around in the living room, and then made everyone answer the same questions in a row. It feels like a boring and awkwards quiz-show, or like an audition for a reality-show. Each round you have few minutes to convince your hosts that you would be the perfect new tenant for the team. And it's not about winning a washin-machine, what's at stake is where you are gonna live for the next couple of months! I was exhausted after these, like after job interviews.. You have to be focused, say the perfect things everyone wants to hear from you, be nice and smalltalk for 2 hours.

So I got through these, got my new place, bought furniture for my new place and moved in. I thought this is the end of this moving journey, but my biggest discovery was yet to come: Dutch walls are made out of cardboard. Or paper. I am not sure. What is sure, is that they have no noise-isolation whatsoever. In the first few weeks of living in my new apartment, everytime that my neighbours were walking in the staircase, I frantically ran out from my room to check whether our front door is closed - every damn time I thought someone is actually coming into my flat. Everytime my neighbours decided to listen to music, I had no choice but to listen too. Whenever they decided to not sleep, I also didn't sleep. I was using earplugs in order to not go crazy, but it didn't really help.

Unfortunately, eventually I DID go crazy, and thus moved again, just 2 months ago, to a place where I don't have upstairs neighbours, because it is top floor (smart, ey?). Oh because of course I never lived alone, a studio or appartement for 1 person is WAY too expensive in this city, so I am sharing it with 2 girls. Renting in general is ridiculously expensive in this city - it costs more than buying a house and paying the installments for it. Either way, now I not only have a roof above my head, but also a roofterrace!(again, pat on the back)

3. Finding friends and hobbies

Probably the toughest part is to build up a social life, far away from your home. I can consider myself already lucky, because I work with so many expats, that it is not hard to connect - an Italian or Greek expat working here has much more in common or can connect easier than with local Dutchies, simply due to their situation in life. However, of course, you cannot hang out ONLY with your colleagues. So you try to meet people on Meetup, you keep inviting your friends from home to come visit you (thank you Zsofi and Csoppy!)... but yeah, it will never be the same as being at home. You have to learn that you cannot count on close friends who are there for you anytime, which is a painful and sad lesson, but is very valuable. It took me months to accept this and to realize, that I have to actually invest in this, which is an exhausting process...

But it's worth it! And luckily I still have some people who I know from for example Utrecht. That's why I ended up dressed up in orange with a bunch of Italian and Spanish people to celebrate Queen's (King's) Day! 

Also, just recently I was able to start some musical projects again, so voila, another video for you to enjoy. And, just another proof of how crazy small the world is once more, the guy next to me playing the guitar, grew up in the same street as me, back in Budapest. The last time we saw each other was probably 10-15 years ago in Hungary, and we bumped into each other on Facebook this year (long live Web 2.0), just to realize that now we live ridiculously close again. 

4. Further everyday challenges

All the rest of stereotypical incidents that an expat has to encounter.

Move to Amsterdam, lose a bike

I was sure that sooner or later it will also happen to me, but somehow I was hoping it wouldn't. Apparently, 15 months is the limit in which the laws of this country say: sorry, expired, get a new bike. Honestly, it was probably just a matter of time until the hands of statistics have picked my fate to be the next person to have their bike stolen. Of course it happened on the very first weekend when I first left my bike in Amsterdam. But, my current ratio of having only my second bike while having lived here for already 21 months is still quite ok, so I'll shut up :)

Cultural shock & language frustrations

I thought I have already been abroad enough to not be shocked by having people from different nations around me, talking other languages than I speak, but the change from Utrecht to Amsterdam was much more drastic than I expected. Already in my office, I have approximately 30 different nationalities in my immediate surroundings, but at least there everyone speaks English. However, on the street, surprisingly, not everyone does. The majority of course does, but the Turkish shop assistant in the grocery shop just around the corner will know only the most basic words. Just like the smiley Chinese ladies in massage salons - I think so far Dutch words spoken with a Chinese accent is my favorite combination.

Weather

As soon as you start working full-time, weather on weekends for example becomes crucial. Not daring or wanting to go outside because of crappy weather on a Saturday, ruins your whole next week. That's why the square by my office is crowded with colleagues at lunchtime during a sunny day. Or in fact any park in Holland at any time of the year will be overcrowded as soon as there is sun for longer than 5 minutes.

I think I could keep on listing stuff for this section... it's a constant ongoing process that I am afraid will never end because there are always new things. My last intention is to bore anyone to death, so I will just pick out one thing. There is this miraculous ability of Dutch  people that they can bike while wheeling their luggages next to them on the pavement. I tried that once, but after faling over 3 times I give up. However, at least I figured out how to transport for example moving boxes:

So, this is what it's like to be an expat in Amsterdam. For me. For now.

p.s.: For those of you who have been desperately waiting for me to mention the word porn: my article from my thesis is in progress - but any further development in that will deserve its own blogpost of course! :)